


If I Could Touch You

by LittleTime



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, M/M, Paranormal, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-04-14 16:41:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 81,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14140158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleTime/pseuds/LittleTime
Summary: After a tragedy forces his family to move away, Lance is determined to build up the shambles of his life. Even if it means putting up a brave face and trying to forget the events of the past summer.The quiet town of Altea seems like the perfect place to recover. However, there is a mystery haunting the town: the untimely death of Keith Kogane.For years, Keith has been living as a ghost. Unable to discover who killed him and finally move on, he is trapped inside the house where he died. No one can see him. No one can help him.Until an insufferable twit moves into the old house with his family, and somehow, he can do all of those things.





	1. Hell is a Place on Earth

When is an avalanche formed?

Is it when it hits you, burying you in the snow? Is it when a snowball starts forming at the top of the mountain and rolling down? Is it when it becomes so big and powerful that no human force can stop it now, and you can only watch helplessly as it comes your way?

On that night, there was nothing anyone could have done to stop what had already been set in motion. 

To many people, that was the beginning of everything. And the beginning came with the end of the lives of a young boy and his father.

2 am. June 16th. A man working late in his office looked from his window to across the street where he saw a black-haired boy entering his garage with his motorcycle. Upon realizing how late it was, he closed the blinds and headed off to bed. A few hours later, when his teenage daughter left the house to go on a morning jog and found the boy's body in his front yard, that was what he told the police.

Here are the facts.

Keith Kogane, 17, was found with three bullet shots on his back. From the position of his body, it seemed like he was trying to run away when he was hit. 

Inside the house, the police found the boy's father, tied to a chair, a single bullet between his eyebrows. From the forensics report, it seemed like he had died at least half an hour before his son. His wrists showed rope burns, and his arms and legs were covered in injuries.

No money or objects of value were taken from the house, but Mr. Kogane's office had been ransacked. A few drawers had had their locks forced, but it seemed like only papers had been taken.

Since no one on the street had heard shots being fired, it was concluded that the culprit had used a silencer and had probably entered through the back door, which faced only an empty field. The Koganes had no family besides each other and no enemies, keeping to themselves most of the time. And while the boy had earned a reputation as a troublemaker, most people agreed he wasn't a bad person, and no one would have any reason to want to hurt him. 

It was concluded that the deaths had been the result of a robbery gone wrong. The deaths had coincided with an end of the year party that Keith had attended, meaning he had been out for most of the night. The robbers had probably thought the house was empty, being first surprised by Mr. Kogane and then by his son, who had walked in while they were looking for anything of value to take. When he had tried to run, the robbers had shot him and then ran away. Simple as that.

And yet no one was truly convinced.

Why rob the Koganes of all people when there were far wealthier people lived in the same street? The house only a few numbers down was completely empty at the time, the owners on vacation.

A stone was put over the case, but it was a delicate stone. If you bumped too hard on it, it would come off, revealing every kind of gross little insect underneath.

And so from then forth, the people of Altea knew to ignore. Life continued, the years passed. But they could not ignore one thing.

The house where it all had happened.

It stood, accusing, reminding everyone that something bad had happened. Something had happened and someone was to blame. Two people were dead, and they had been killed by someone. What if it was someone they knew? What if your coworker joked around with you during the day, and at night they went home and dreamed of how they had killed that boy and his father? What if your wife kissed you before going to work, the weight of what she had done on the bottom of her stomach? Who knew if your father had tied the ropes around Mr. Kogane's wrists, just like he had once tied your shoelaces?

Everyone suspected, and yet no one said anything.

When no one did it, it only means anyone could have done it. 

No one knew what to think of the whole ordeal. They only knew that they had to keep away from the house. One by one, the neighbors started moving away. They claimed they wanted more space or a bigger garden, but everyone knew the truth. Parents warned their children not to go too near the house. Not that it was haunted, it was just that it had been abandoned for so long, there might be rats there. Or cockroaches. Or... anything else.

And yet, in schoolyards and Boy Scouts camping trips, tiny heads came together and whispered the secret of the Haunted House. How a boy was trapped there, enraged and abandoned, and how he would scream to the night, how he would kill anyone that dared set foot there. Children would always run past the house, careful not to look at it for too long. Every time they told the story, someone claimed that they had seen the ghost with their own eyes.

Hunk Garrett had been 11 when the whole ordeal had happened, and he had had a front row seat to the whole thing. His father was the sheriff, after all. And for the first months of that summer, journalists were parked in front of his house every day, waiting for his father to come out to ask him questions about the case, every one of them with a theory about what had happened. Hunk had served them lemonade on the particularly hot days, but when they tried to ask him the same questions, he just shrugged.

'I'm 11.' He would say. 'I don't know.'

Now he was 17. For 6 years he had had to deal with those crazy stories, and while he wanted to believe his father when he said the Koganes had just had a run-in with some bad luck (and what bad luck that was), he couldn't control the fear he felt whenever he saw that house. In the battle for his attention, the irrational fear always won against the cold logic. 

He didn't only fear that house. He was terrified of it. 

Which was why he couldn't understand why he had let himself be dragged into another one of Pidge's hijinks.

'You do know that breaking and entering is illegal, right?' He asked as they parked their bikes and hid them with some bushes. If it relied on Pidge, they would have just walked straight down the street, but Hunk was a little more paranoid. So instead of just walking up to the house, they would sneak in from behind, from the open field. 

_Like the killers._ He thought when he saw the house's dark silhouette against the night sky. He quickly pushed the thought away from his mind.

'Don't tell me you're afraid of an old house.' Scoffed Pidge, already a few steps ahead, backpack hanging from one of her skinny shoulders.

'I'm not afraid of an old house, but I am afraid of getting arrested.' Hunk rubbed his sweaty palms against his jacket, trying to calm himself down. 'Why do you even want to do this?!'

Pidge stopped, and Hunk wondered whether or not he had said something wrong.

She had always been a little ball of chaos, but the past months had been hard on her. With everything that had happened... could he really blame her for acting out? 

But then she turned, and she had a sly smile on her face. The same smile that she had given him before convincing him to help her fill up the school's swimming pool with Coca-Cola ('Where did you even get so much soda?' 'I know a guy.'), the same smile that had made him help her cover Principal Iverson's office with bubble wrap. A smile, a tilt of the head and an off-hand comment.

'I heard Shay really likes brave guys.' She purred. 'Wouldn't she be impressed if she heard you went to the haunted house?'

Hunk felt his face burn up, just like every time someone mentioned Shay.

'I hate you. You are a gremlin from hell.'

'That was actually my childhood nickname.'

And so he went behind Pidge, wondering if Shay would be impressed if she learned he was arrested for trying to enter a murder scene.

The house was surrounded by a chain-link fence that only made Hunk tense up even more. No one else in the neighborhood had a chain-link fence, all the other yards were limited by lovely picket fences. But even before the crime that had taken their lives, the Koganes were considered to be slightly eccentric. It wasn't just the fence. They also kept all of their doors and window locked at all times, never invited anyone to their house or accepted invitations, and never told anyone who they were or where they came from. One day a man had simply moved to that house with his infant son. No one knew what had happened to the mother. No one knew why they had come to Altea out of all places.

Pidge kneeled down and pulled a wire cutter out of her backpack, starting the task of opening a hole in the fence. Hunk looked around, wondering what would happen if someone heard them. Or saw them. Or caught them inside the house.

'Are you done yet?' He asked.

'I _literally_ just started.' Whined Pidge. 'It's very easy to complain when you're not the one doing all the damn work.'

Hunk stuck his hands in his pockets and looked around, almost hoping to see blue and red lights and hear the sound of sirens. But no. The street was quiet, no one awake to see them and tell them that what they were doing was wrong. Of course not. So many people in the neighborhood had left. 

Hunk hadn't known the Koganes. Only their reputation. He remembered seeing Keith around town in his motorcycle, but they had never spoken to each other. What high school senior paid attention to an 11-year old, anyway?

In some ways, his presence was more tangible now that he was dead. There was still a picture of him at school, taken from his yearbook (his quote was a string of lyrics from an MCR song, because of course it was), and a few of his old classmates who still lived in Altea remembered him fondly. Which was weird, since in 17 years few were the people who had traded more than 2 sentences with him. People had found a way to make him less angry and rebellious now that he was gone. Dead people can't revolt. 

'Ok, let's go.' Without Hunk even noticing, Pidge had finished up opening a hole in the chain-link fence and had slid like a snake into the house's garden. 'Hurry up before someone sees us.'

Pidge always forgot that not everyone had the physical structure of a 9-year-old, so Hunk had to squeeze himself into the hole, scratching himself in the process. When he got up and looked at the house's dark windows, he felt like he was staring into accusing eyes. Immediately, he felt a shiver go up his spine as if he had been hit by a wave of ice cold water. And a voice, faint as the summer breeze, seemed to whisper a single word into his ear.

_Leave._

'Did you hear that?!' Asked Hunk, feeling like his voice had come out a little more on the shrill and hysterical side than he had intended. 

'W-What?' Pidge was speaking in a nonchalant way that was a pure farce. It was obvious she had heard the voice. But she was always criticising him for being a coward, so it wasn't like she could back away now. 'L-Let's get inside.'

For a second, Hunk hoped that the back porch's door would be locked, the lock so rusty that even Pidge couldn't pick it. As always, he was left disappointed. The door opened with a click, and soon he was surrounded by pitch darkness, the smell of mold hitting him like a brick in the nose. 

Except for the floorboards creaking under their feet and the mice running away, surprised by the first visit in years, Hunk and Pidge were in complete silence, listening only to their hectic breathing. Hunk could feel his heart beating faster with every second he spent there. 

'Can we leave now?' His voice was getting higher by the minute, making him feel like it was changing all over again.

'Not yet. I want to see something.' And with those words, Pidge pulled a flashlight out of her backpack and started walking down the hallway. Hunk immediately followed, trying to get close to the light.

'What exactly do you want to see? Rats? Bloodstains?' Pidge opened a door and peeked inside, seeing a ratty couch and a TV stand. The living room, probably. 'Are you even listening to me?!'

'You know what, Hunk? Why don't we split up?' Pidge fumbled in her backpack and gave him a second flashlight. 'You can go upstairs. I'll stay here.'

'Why?! Why would we do that?!'

'Because you're annoying me! That's why!'

'Have you never seen any horror movie ever? It always starts like this! Two teenagers go into a creepy haunted house, get separated, and then get murdered violently by a serial killer!'

'Relax, there's nothing dangerous here.'

A loud sound echoed in the hall. A sound that seemed just like a fist pounding on a wall. Hunk's eyebrows raised as if to say 'See?'.

'That was probably just the wind.' Pidge opened another door. This room had bookshelves lining up the walls, and an old desk made of dark wood. The office. 'I just want to check something. I promise we can go after that.'

She clasped her hands together under her chin, and Hunk sighed.

'You owe me one.'

Pidge smiled, and before Hunk could say anything else she was already going through the desk's drawers. All that was left was him and the staircase.

The poor thing seemed to have always looked like it was about to crumble, and 6 years of abandonment hadn't done it any good. With every step, Hunk imagined what it would be like to fall through.

And it wasn't just the fear that was holding him down. He felt like there was someone looking over his shoulder and breathing on his neck, someone that was trying their damn hardest to stop him from going up those stairs. His arms were covered in goosebumps, invisible cold fingers making his flesh freeze. He could only hope that Pidge would hurry up.

It felt like years had passed when he reached the top of the staircase, his flashlight illuminating a dark hallway surrounded on both sides by doors.

_Why would two people need so many bedrooms?_ He wondered as he opened a door. There were at least 6 rooms on that floor of the house, and only one seemed like it had ever been really occupied. The rest of them seemed like they were guests room that had never seen any guests. 

Hunk wondered what Mr. Kogane did for a living to be able to afford a house that big. He didn't remember seeing him out of the house a lot. Maybe he was a freelancer?

After a while, he started to calm down. His eyes were getting used to the darkness, and soon it felt like the coldness was fading. Just paranoia, probably.

He had just finished exploring the last room when he heard a sound from above. It was like someone was walking right on top of where he was, making the wood creak loudly. Hunk froze, waiting. The steps continued and then stopped. Before he could move a muscle, a trapdoor opened and a rope ladder fell from the ceiling.

'H-Hello?' He called, trying to see if there was someone up there. Hunk tried the rope ladder with a foot, not feeling particularly safe about it. Hesitantly, he rose until his nose was just an inch or two above the trapdoor, enough to see where he was.

The attic was a big space with a low ceiling, immersed in a kind of darkness that was almost unnatural. His flashlight was no competition, putting out only a circle of meek light that only showed a bed on a corner and posters on the wall. Hunk could barely make out the letters. 

Then, a few things happened in a quick succession.

First, his flashlight gave out. 

It happened without warning, leaving him with no way to see what was happening. Before he could do anything, he heard a faint sound of something stretching underneath him. It took him a little to figure out that the rope ladder was giving out. In fact, he only realized that when the rope snapped and he hit the floor ass first, all the air in his lungs leaving like he was a balloon that had been pierced. The sound of his body hitting the floorboards echoed throughout the house.

'Hunk?' Asked Pidge's voice, rising from downstairs. 'Is that you?'

Hunk fumbled for his useless flashlight, panic rising in his throat like bile. His voice came out in shambles, making it impossible to respond. Just when he thought he had regained a bit of composure, a door hit him in the face.

As he stared, not really certain of what was happening, all the doors in the hallway opened and closed with violence, in unison like they were a marching band. But the sound wasn't music, it was just deafening. 

Hunk didn't question it. He just ran down the stairs again, almost falling.

'Pidge!' He yelled. 'Pidge, we need to go! Now!'

He ran into the office, where Pidge had a stack of papers in her hands and a confused look on her face.

'What the hell is that noise upstairs?' She asked. 'Hunk, did you try to pet a raccoon again? You know those things are little assholes.'

'That's not it, there is something upstairs and it wants my head!' Hunk snatched Pidge by her backpack and tried to pull her out of the room. 'Let's go!'

'Hey, I'm not fini-' Before Pidge could finish her sentence, the papers in her hands flew up, making her stagger. She turned, wide-eyed, and pointed her flashlight at every corner in the room. 'What the fuck was that?'

'Are you going to tell me that was the wind too?!'

'C-Could have been.'

'Do you even know how the wind works?!'

A long, creaking sound came from behind them. When they turned, Pidge's flashlight showed a bookshelf. A bookshelf that was becoming bigger pretty fast. A bookshelf that was seconds away from crashing them.

'Shit!' Yelled Pidge, as Hunk grabbed her wrist and started running, dragging her along. 'That's not the wind! That's not the wind!'

They were already out of the office when the bookshelf crashed into the floor, making a tsunami of dust fly up. As they ran back to the back door, things flew over their heads, making them move faster. A book passed past Hunk's ears seconds before a framed photograph hit Pidge and the arm. Just as they reached the door, a vase that seemed to have come from nowhere shattered in the wall next to them. 

With shaking hands, Hunk grabbed the doorknob and twisted. And then he twisted again. And again.

'I-It's locked!' He screamed. 'Somebody locked us in!'

'I'll pick the lock! Move over!' Pidge threw him to the side, bobby pins already in hand. 

Hunk waited, catching his breath. There was nothing flying at them anymore, which was good, but now the silence had settled again and it was even worse than before. The only sound in the air was Pidge's bobby pins scratching the metal of the lock. For a few moments, that was the only sound that Hunk could focus on. And then the steps came back.

They were the same steps that Hunk had heard while upstairs. Heavy and dragged, like the person who was walking was using combat boots way too heavy for them. Coming their way.

'P-Pidge, please tell me you are a second away from opening this door.' Hunk gave a few steps backward, feeling like his legs would give out any time. 

'Almost... almost...'

The steps were getting closer and closer until finally someone appeared on the other side of the hallway. Hunk couldn't see their face, only their silhouette. A shadow that grew bigger with each step, coming his way with slow, decisive movements. And in a second, he started believing. He started believing in all those stories about a dead boy who would kill anyone who dares step into his domain, all those stories about screams in the dead of night and things that no one could explain.

He started believing in the ghost of Keith Kogane.

Frozen in his place, he barely realized that the door was now open. Pidge shook him, making him snap out of it, and soon they were running through the backyard. The figure behind him shrieked, and without even looking back Hunk could tell that it was coming after them. 

Thanks to her headstart, Pidge basically flew into the hole they had cut into the fence. Hunk hurried after her, squeezing as tight as he could, feeling the sharp wire scratching his stomach. But he was almost out. He was almost...

An ice-cold hand seemed to clench around his ankle, pulling him back. Hunk screamed, digging his nails into the dirt. 

'Help me!' He yelled, as Pidge grabbed his arms and tried to pull him.

'There's nothing there!' She cried, pulling him with all her force.

'Pidge, if I die I swear to God that I will haunt you!'

The thing behind him pulled harder, and for a second Hunk thought that was it. He was going to die and spend eternity hanging out with Keith Kogane's ghost, listening to MCR and talking about Hot Topic. It would be like being trapped in 2006 MySpace forever. It would be hell.

And then his shoe came off.

The realization that he no longer had those freezing fingers around his foot washed him in relief. It was his chance to escape, and he took it. In less than a second, he was on the other side of the fence, running for his dear life. The relief was so big that he didn't even feel the rocks and twigs stabbing his foot through his sock. A show was a good price to pay for his life.

Soon, Hunk and Pidge were pedaling away like they were mad. They didn't look behind, scared of what they would see.

Slowly, the house came back to normal. Alone once again, the spirit that haunted those halls set back, watching the mayhem it had spread. It hurt him to do that. It was his house, after all. But he couldn't stand those kids, acting like it was an amusement park. 

The whole ordeal had drained him. As he went back inside, he stopped to stare at the picture he had thrown, lying on the floor. The last picture he had taken with his father, while they were out camping. His dad had always loved nature. 

The frame had been broken by the impact, and now a crack ran up, covering his dad's face. The only thing he could see now was his own person, frozen in a rare smile. Forever holding that camera with a hand while his other arm was around his father's neck. Forever with one of his eyes closed (it wasn't a wink, he just had dust in his eye). Forever 17 years-old, not allowed to get any older.

He didn't know it at the time, but in a few months, he would be dead. And there was nothing he could do to stop it or anything that came afterward.

Turning his head, he walked away. There was no use crying over things that had already happened. He was dead, and alone in that house, and so it would be forever.

He couldn't guess how wrong he was.


	2. Fresh Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm not really happy with how this chapter turned out. These first chapters are really just to set a premise, so I feel like I won't be satisfied with them for a long time.  
> However, I'm really enjoying writing this, and if you like reading this fic, then don't forget to leave kudos or a comment!

When Mom told him they were moving away from California, he didn't quite register it. Truth be told, he wasn't awake. He hadn't felt like he was truly awake for most of the summer. Whatever he did, be it talk to his friends and family or watch TV, he felt like he was sleepwalking. When he got up, he couldn't remember a thing about what he had just done. 

He didn't ask her why they were leaving behind everything they knew. He knew why. And he didn't ask her where they were going either. He didn't care.

He just knew he had to get away from the sea. 

The months after passed by in a blur. He spent most of his time packing his stuff, making excuses to not go out. He had always enjoyed living by the coast, but now seeing the sea was just too painful. So whenever his siblings needed to go out, he suddenly remembered that he had forgotten to sort through his clothes. Or that he still had to find the necessaire where he kept his toiletries. Or that Mom needed help making sure the glasses were properly packed.

Since that day in early July, he could count the days he had gone out of the house with the fingers of one hand.

And now it was September, and a line of moving trucks was waiting in front of the house (moving a family like the McClains wasn't easy). And so were his friends.

He saw them through his window before he went downstairs, and he braced himself for what was to come. Taking a look at his old bedroom one last time, he closed the door behind him and walked slowly towards the front door, trying to carve every aspect of the house into his memory. The drawings that had been made on the walls, barely seen under layers of paint. The glued stars on the ceiling of Julia's room, the stars he and Veronica had glued. The carvings on the doorframes showing how he, his siblings and niece (David still couldn't stand up on his own, so his height still wasn't on the wall) had grown over the years.

'Hey, guys!' He said, opening the front door with a smile on his face. 'I didn't know you would swing by!'

'It's not like we could just let you leave without saying anything.' Someone said. He didn't register who it was, or where they were. The next five minutes were spent remembering fond memories that felt faint and vanished to him and giving hugs that were basically just lifting up his arms and pretending to clutch someone closer.

And then he saw her.

Lance and Nyma hadn't spoken since the day of the accident, and he hadn't seen her since the funeral. So when he saw her come his way, he froze, not sure of what to expect.

'Lance, can we talk?' She asked, glancing around. 'In private?'

His friends, getting the hint, went inside to see if anyone needed help with the boxes, which left the two of them alone. Lance sat on the front door's step, his eyes trained on his shoes. Partly to avoid having to look at Nyma, partly to avoid looking at the sea stretching up behind her.

'Are you going to say anything?' He asked, after realizing they had been silent for what felt like an eternity.

'Why have you been avoiding me?' Asked Nyma, crossing her arms over her chest. 'I mean... you don't respond to my texts. You ignore my calls.'

'I've been really busy.'

'Don't give me that.' She said, cutting him off. 'Look, I know that you're moving away. And I don't want a long distance relationship or anything of the sort. I just don't want you leaving thinking I'm some kind of heartless bitch.'

He didn't respond. Lance had never thought of blaming her. Truth be told, he hadn't been thinking about her at all.

His feelings about her had been mixed up ever since the accident. Sure, he cursed the day he had met her. He cursed the day he had let himself be taken by her sweet voice and her pretty face.

But that was the whole deal. He was the one who wanted to impress her, he was the one who invited her to come with him and Dad, he was the one who had insisted on going even though Dad said it was too stormy. 

In the end, it all boiled down to the Butterfly Effect. A butterfly flapping her wings on one side of the planet leads to a tornado on the other side. That day in early summer when Lance had met Nyma had only been the beginning. Nyma was a butterfly. Lance was the tornado that destroyed the life he held so dear. 

In the end, he was the one to blame.

'It's alright.' He said. 'I never thought you were a heartless bitch.'

She sighed, and it looked like the weight of the world had come off her shoulders.

'Thanks, Lance.' She gave him a quick hug and one last smile. 'For all that's worth, I think we could have worked out. In another life, perhaps.'

With those words, she turned around and walked away. There was a car waiting for her on the other side of the street, and Lance could see Rolo in the driver's seat, leaning out of his open window to tell her something. 

A few months earlier, that sight would have enraged him enough to do something stupid and try to win her attention back. His crush on Nyma had been one of the strongest feelings he had ever felt, enough to make him want to go all out in the most dramatic ways. But now the thought of never seeing her again didn't make him so sad. It was the first time he got over a crush so fast and so swiftly.

'Are you alright, sharpshooter?' Asked Veronica, sitting down next to him. Lance wondered how much she had heard.

'Me? I'm great.' He managed to crack another fake smile. 'You know what they say. There's plenty of fish.'

Veronica tilted her head, and he knew he had overdone it.

'I never heard you say that.' She placed a finger on her chin, pretending to be in deep thought. 'Tell me, who was it that after his first breakup in middle school wanted to show up at his ex's doorstep with cards and recreate that scene from Love, Actually?'

'In my honest defense, he did break up with me near Christmas.' The engine on Rolo's car started, and soon he was driving away. Lance could see strands of Nyma's blonde hair blowing in the wind. It twisted his guts. 'But I'm fine. Seriously. I think I cried enough about her.'

Veronica ruffled his har, and he wanted to lean in and chase her hand, but instead, he pulled back.

'What, are you too cool to get your hair ruffled by your big sister?'

'Yeah!' He said, using a pocket mirror to put his hair back in order. 'Don't do it in the new place, ok? I have a reputation to build.'

'Let's see how that one works out when I show that video of yours when you were 4. You know, the one where a certain someone is dressed up in Mom's clothes and singing Barbie Girl.'

'If you want me to be quiet about your Twilight phase, then you better not.'

'Are you two fighting again?' Asked Luis, passing by them with a box. 'Get up already. We're leaving in five minutes.'

Lance got up before Veronica had any other chance to start talking about feelings. Julia was sitting on the front yard's swing, reluctant to go, and Lance agreed to push her one last time. That swing, hanging from a tree in the front yard, was older than Lance himself. Somehow, leaving it behind was what hurt the most.

With everything safely packed inside the trucks, it was time to go.

Luis and Alicia decided to take turns driving their truck, with Julia and baby David on the back. Marco would go with Veronica. Lance already had his driver's license, but since he "could not be trusted to ride a bike" and "was the kind of person to text and drink a smoothie while driving" (according to Luis, at least), he was going with Mom in the first truck.

Time wasn't being kind to Mom. The past months had made her age 10 years, silver hairs lining her mess of brown curls. The wrinkles around her eyes and mouth were deeper and seemed to form tear tracks. And yet when he sat beside her, she smiled like everything was ok.

'Said goodbye to your friends?' She asked. He nodded, taking one last look at the people waving on the sidewalk. He waved back.

Only when the engine started he realized that he was probably never coming back. Sure, it was one last year of high school and then he was free to come back to California. Back to his house by the beach.

But he knew he wouldn't do that.

So he took one last look at the house where he had grown up, at the street where he had got his first broken bone (right in the middle of the road, after Luis tackled him a little too strongly), at the gardens whose fences he had jumped in the middle of the night when trying to sneak back into the house, hoping his parents, who hadn't given him permission to go out in the first place, wouldn't see him (they were always waiting for him inside with a two-week punishment of washing the dishes everynight).

They passed by the park where he had had his first kiss, and the convenience store where he and Marco used to buy Pokemon cards (they never traded with each other, they knew the other one would just steal the ones he wanted anyway), and the high school which he had stepped off only a few months ago, thinking he was in for the summer of his life. 

The family's restaurant, now closed.

The hospital. The smell of anti-bacterial products and cheap flowers from the store on the ground floor still felt like acid on Lance's nose. Waking up confused in a completely white room. The blue corpse lying face up on a metal table.

The cemetery.

As they passed the black iron gate, the moving truck slowed down. Mom turned her face away, and even with her best efforts, Lance could tell she was crying a little. Dead or not, they were leaving someone behind. And it was all his fault.

Guilt hit him like a punch in the stomach. 

'Hey, Mom?' He placed a hesitant hand on her shoulder. 'It's...'

'I know. I know.' She said, her voice still heavy with tears. The other trucks had stopped behind them, and Lance could guess that they were in a similar situation. 'We have to be strong.'

He laced her arms around her (she had become so thin, so fragile) and rested his chin on her shoulder. Somewhere along the road of the years, he had become taller than her. He missed being small enough to fit in her lap.

A car behind them honked, and Mom cleaned her tears quickly and continued to drive.

As the cemetery grew smaller in the rearview mirror, the atmosphere started to become lighter. They talked about the old house, about the music on the radio (Lance was even able to get a smile for his Shakira impression), about what awaited them in the new town. Mom was so optimistic that Lance couldn't help but pretend he also was. She kept telling him how big the new house was, how Julia and David would have such a nice garden to play in, how lovely the street looked from the photographs. At one point, Lance actually got his hopes up.

Until they were actually in front of the house.

He only realized they had arrived when he saw "WELCOME TO ALTEA" written on a sign on the side of the road. Nudged between two hills, the town looked like a kid cuddling between blankets. 

Their street was on a quiet part of town, away from the center. As they strolled down, Lance was greeted with the sight of pastel-colored houses, perfectly manicured lawns, and snow-white picket fences. It was intimidating in the way that only upper-middle-class suburban homes can be. He could practically see the soccer moms with their golden-haired children and golden retrievers judging his loud family and his hand-me-downs he had received from Luis. Would they stand out too much?

When the truck stopped and he looked out of the window, he knew they definitely would. 

The new house wasn't exactly on the new side. A high chain-link fence surrounded it, making the whole building look like a prison, and if Lance was right (and he hoped to God he wasn't) there was a piece of old police tape stuck between the wires. And the real problems started with the house itself. It wasn't exactly decaying, but it wasn't far from it. Worst than the unkempt look of it all (the chipped paint, the way the walls had become darkened in a few places), it was the way it made Lance feel like it would fall in front of him at any second. It stood in an intimidating way, like it was leaning closer to give him a good look.

'Did... Did anyone else just feel a shiver up their spine?' Asked Veronica, running her hands up her arms. 'I just... feel very cold all of a sudden.'

'I feel like we're about to become the Cuban version of the Addams family.' Said Marco. 'Which is... something I never expected, honestly.'

A man, probably the real estate seller, was standing in front of the house, fidgeting with the keys. As he saw them approach, an expression of relief washed over his face, like he had thought Mom had been playing a prank on him when she had said she wanted to buy the house. Lance couldn't figure out if that was a good thing.

'You must be the McClains.' He said. 'To be honest, I didn't think you would go ahead with... this.'

'Desperate times.' Sighed Mom. 'Do you have the keys?'

'Here you go.' Said the man, handing her the keys so fast Lance barely saw his hands. 'I just need you to sign some papers, then we're ready to go. We can do it right here.'

'Why don't we come inside instead?' Asked Mom. 'We really need to start unpacking.'

The man looked at her for a second, and then his eyes slid towards the house. He visibly shivered. At that moment Lance started having a few doubts about this new house.

'S-Sure.' He said. 'As long as it's quick. I have v-very serious business to attend to.'

Something was definitely off.

They made their way through the high grass and Mom unlocked the front door. As soon as the door was open, Lance was hit by a wave of dust and was bent over himself, sneezing like crazy.

'God, that is one dusty house.' Said Alicia through the pauses in her coughing. 'For how long has this place been empty?'

'Six years.' Explained the realtor, shaking like leaves. 'It's not a... very popular house.'

'I can see why.' Luis looked around, and his eyes settled on a "FOR SALE" sign on the house next door. As he looked at other houses, he saw the same sign. 'Most of the neighborhood is for sale.'

'Oh, you know how it is.' Luis traded a look with Mom, who was already inside the house. The man was definitely hiding something.

The previous owners had left most if not all of their furniture in the house, but even so, it wasn't a lot of stuff. Lance saw a photograph hanging from the entrance hall and stopped for a second to see it. It showed a boy with black hair with a motorcycle between his legs, a helmet in his hands. His hair was a horrible, horrible mullet, but besides that, he was pretty good-looking. 

Mom and the real estate realtor settled in the living room, and as she signed the remaining papers, the kids spread around the house, exploring.

The new house was a lot bigger than the previous one, and Lance felt a little lost as he wandered around. He didn't find more pictures, but he did find an office in complete havoc. A bookshelf had been tipped over, now lying in a bed of spread papers that covered almost every inch of the floor. And the parts of the floor that weren't covered by papers were covered by a ratty old carpet. 

The ground floor also had a kitchen, which was big but just as dirty as the rest of the house (and Lance suspected that the previous family had only cooked ramen noodles in there because the oven showed no signs of use), a living room that doubled as a dining room and a bathroom.

As soon as Mom was finished signing all the papers, the realtor packed up his things and left with a quick goodbye. Lance watched him almost running away from the house.

'Weird guy.' Commented Marco, shaking his head. 'We're picking out the rooms, wanna come?'

'Are we going to share a room again?' Asked Lance as they made their way up the stairs. 'I mean, your snoring really interferes with my beauty sleep.'

'Yeah, because waking up at 2 am and seeing your ugly face in a weird ass face mask has never given me a heart attack.'

'You and your dusty ass face are just jealous of my moisturized self.'

Lance had expected Veronica and Luis to be fighting like dogs over the biggest room, but instead, he found them in the middle of the hallway, staring up at a trapdoor on the ceiling.

'Mom didn't tell us the house had an attic.' Said Luis, peeking inside. The broken rope ladder laid at his feet. 'It seems pretty big. I even think it could be used as a room.'

Lance and Marco turned towards each other so fast that their necks practically snapped. They had been sharing a room since they were children, and they both hated it. Marco was one of the messiest people Lance had ever met, snored like a pig, and was always borrowing his clothes without asking. And it wasn't Lance's fault that he looked scary with his face masks (he only used them once a week, anyway) or that he liked walking around naked (it was Marco's fault for bringing in guests unannounced).

Now this, this was a chance to have some space. And an attic room sounded pretty cool. So Lance knew that he was about to embark on a fight to the death. Well, almost. Lance and Marco were the closest in age in the family, so they had basically grown side by side. And whatever topic siblings could possibly fight about, they had fought with each other about it. Probably twice. And when Mom settled those fights, it was usually in favor of Marco, since he was the youngest. This could evolve into a full-on name-calling hair-pulling fight. If Lance wanted to win, he would need to be determinate, strong, and...

'I think Lance should have it.' Said Marco out of the blue. Lance, who had had Eye of the Tiger playing inside his brain for the last five seconds, was a little taken aback.

'What?' He asked. 'Is this one of those things where you let me go ahead and when I turn around you push me and run away laughing?'

'That was one time!'

'You know what, I think it would be good for Lance to have his own space.' Commented Luis.

'Yeah.' Agreed Veronica. 'I mean, you're 17. I think you deserve your own room.'

Lance looked at them for a second, at the way-too-sweet smiles on their faces. It was rare for all of them to agree on something.

And then he understood. They were trying to make him feel better. Trying to show they didn't hate him and didn't blame him for what had happened. The display of love felt bittersweet in his mouth.

'Uh, thanks, guys.' He said, suddenly very awkward. 'But how am I going to get up? The ladder's broken.'

'I saw a garage, maybe there's a ladder there.' Suggested Marco.

'I'll go get it.' Said Luis. 'Meanwhile, you two can help Lance climb into his new room.'

Marco and Veronica helped him up, only hitting his head on the ceiling a little bit, and then Lance pushed his body through the trapdoor until he was in the attic.

Luis was right, it was a pretty big room. The ceiling was low, but Lance could still stand.

The attic was dark since someone had put blackout curtains over the skylight. As soon as Lance took them down and kicked them to a corner, he could see a very minimal room with walls painted in a faded red color. There was a bed on the corner, a wardrobe, a desk, and posters on the walls, mostly from emo bands. Lance wondered whether the room had been previously occupied by a 13-year-old going through an angsty phase.

The room seemed like it had been frozen in time. All the previous owner's things were there, so Lance felt like an intruder. It was almost as if the room itself was waiting for its true owner to come back. The feeling just got worse as Lance opened the drawers of the wardrobe, seeing the weirdest mix of black t-shirts that looked exactly the same, leather jackets that seemed to cover only the upper part of the torso (he wondered who the hell actually thought those jackets were a good idea), fingerless gloves, and a cape. An actual, honest to God cape. Lance thought those things had gone out of business in the 18th century. And yet he didn't know whether or not that was weirder than the fingerless gloves.

The next hours were filled with chores. Mom went out to get groceries so they could cook dinner, while Luis and Alicia settled David's nursery and the rest of them went around the house trying to get it less filthy. Lance had been tasked with sweeping the floors but understood it was useless after a while. He was about to start pulling his hair out in frustration when the doorbell rang.

'Get the door.' Said Veronica, plopping down on the couch with her phone. 

'Excuse me, aren't you supposed to be cleaning the bathroom?'

'Aren't you supposed to respect your elders?'

'You're 21, you're not an elder!' Yelled Lance, as he made his way to the door. 'I mean, you have the face of one, but still...'

'Eat a dick!'

He opened the door, still bickering with Veronica, so it took him a little to see the woman at the door, even though she could easily be 6 feet tall without high heels. 

As soon as he saw her, he was a little taken aback. She had caramel colored skin, waist-length white hair, and one of the most beautiful faces Lance had ever seen. So he just had to pop out a cheesy pick-up line. He was legally obliged to. 

'Hey there.' He said, propping his elbow against the doorframe. 'Heaven's a long way from here, y'know?'

'Uh, hello.' She offered him a hand. 'I'm Allura, I live in the house on the other side of the street. I noticed the van and thought it would be nice to introduce myself and welcome you to the neighborhood.'

'Lance, who is it at the door?' Asked Veronica, popping her head out of the living room. Seeing Allura, she struck a similar pose. 'Why, hello there. Heaven's a long...'

Lance made her signals to stop, and she sent him an offended look. Allura smiled at her.

'Allura, this is my sister Veronica. Veronica, this is Allura. Our front door neighbor.' Lance made a sign towards the inside of the house. 'Why don't you come in and meet the rest of the family? Our mother went shopping, but the rest's all here.'

'Oh, I'd love to.' She said, stepping in. She had a slight British accent, and Lance wondered whether she was English. 

'Hey, Marco!' Yelled Veronica. 'Come greet the guest!'

'I'm cleaning the garage!'

'Bullshit, I know you're playing games on your phone!'

'Ugh, fine! What is it?' Marco emerged from the door that connected the house to the garage. Allura waited to see if he would crack a similar pick-up line. When he didn't, she gave a small sigh of relief.

'This is Marco, our little brother.' Said Veronica, ruffling Marco's hair. 'Our older brother Luis is upstairs with his wife Alicia. They have two kids. Julia is 4, David is just a baby. I can go get him if you want. He's super cute.'

'No, no, I'll get him.' Said Lance, already flying to the stairs. 'Babies love me!'

'You'll drop him, you egg!' Screamed Veronica. From then it became a race to see who could reach the nursery first.

'What are you two idiots doing?' Asked Luis, seeing them barge in. 'The baby is sleeping.'

'Lance is using my pick-up lines on our hot neighbor!'

'You are such a snitch!'

'Didn't you heard me say the baby is sleeping?' Luis stared at them for a second. 'Wait, were you planning on using my son to flirt? Were you willing to go that low? Using your own nephew?'

'You did the same to Lance and Marco when they were born.'

'Lance is right, Veronica. You are a snitch.'

They heard the sound of an engine on the driveway and saw Mom from the window. Since Luis refused to let them wake up David to try to show off, they were forced to return empty-handed to the ground floor.

'What's going on here?' Asked Mom, seeing a stranger in the house.

'Mom, this is Allura. She's our neighbor.' Said Lance.

'Oh, hi, dear! Would you like to stay for dinner?'

'I really shouldn't, I...' Allura was cut off by Mom ordering Marco to set an extra plate at the table.

And that was how Allura ended up eating dinner with the McClains, sitting between Lance and Veronica, who competed for her attention by constantly putting food on her plate and telling her cheesy pick-up lines. After a while, she started to relax and even played along a few times.

'So, Allura, what do you do for a living?' Asked Alicia, smiling as politely as she could.

'I'm a science teacher at Garrison High.' She said. 'Well... not yet. I'm starting this year.'

'Lance and Marco are going to Garrison!' Beamed Mom. 

'And I have to warn you, you are now sitting next to your future best student.' Said Lance, cracking what he hoped was a dazzling smile. 

'Hey, Lance!' Called Marco, from the other side of the table. 'What's a zygote?'

Lance paused, trying to remember his science classes. It wasn't exactly his fault that the damn thing always landed early in the morning, how was he supposed to concentrate when he was technically still sleeping?

'You.' He ended up saying. 'You are a zygote.'

'Well, I believe you are really going to enjoy Garrison.' Said Allura, doing her best to try and forget what she had just heard. 'I actually went there when I was younger.'

'So you're from Altea?' Asked Veronica. 'That's funny, I thought you were British. You know, the accent and all.'

'I went to college in England, but I was born and raised here. I spent most of my life in that house across the street.' Allura smiled and took a sip of her water. Her smile had something sad behind it, like she was talking to a person who was long gone. 'But really, all that time I was away I just wanted to come back to Altea. There's something about this town that no other place in the world has.'

'Wait, if you grew up here, then you knew the people who lived here before us?' Asked Luis.

'I... I did, yes.' Lance felt Allura's body tense up next to him. Strange.

'Great! I found a bunch of stuff that they forgot in the office, and it looks important. Do you still have their number? Maybe I could contact them.'

Allura's fingers clutched her water glass until her knuckled turned pale. Whatever good mood she had developed over dinner, it was quickly fading away. 

'I believe that's impossible.' She said, her voice a hushed whisper. 'You see, the family that lived here before is dead.'

Silence fell over the table as everyone stopped talking. Suddenly, the house felt colder, unwelcoming. Lance, his hands frozen in the act of reaching for bread, felt like he was an ice sculpture, ready to crack at any moment.

'A-All of them?' Asked Alicia, losing all the color from her cheeks.

'They were only two, a man and his son. It was a... scandalous thing, really.' Allura traced the edge of the table with her long fingers as if in a trance. 'The police say it was a robbery gone wrong. The boy walked in on his murdered father and the robbers killed him too.'

'That's... horrible.' Said Mom, shaking her head. 'The poor boy. How old was he?'

'17. We were classmates at Garrison High.' Allura sighed, deeper and deeper into her memories. 

Slowly, all the eyes turned to Lance. 17. Just like he was.

'Wow.' He said, trying to compose his face. He wouldn't let them see how much that freaked him out. He couldn't. Suddenly, he got up. 'Hey, seems that we're out of bread! I'm gonna get more!'

Nobody tried to stop him, even though there was still a lot of bread in the basket. 

Allura left little after that, and Lance went to his room while Luis and Mom washed the dishes. He could hear their voices in the kitchen, worried whispers. The last months had been filled with those wherever he went. He hated that sound, that sound of low voices where you could almost make out the words, almost, but in the end, you were just left grasping at straws, feeling like they were talking about you. About something wrong with you. 

Luis had placed a ladder against the edge of the trapdoor, and Lance climbed into his new room. As soon as he stepped in, a thought made him freeze in his place. This was probably the dead kid's room. 

He ran a finger through the dusty surface of the desk, imagining a kid just like him, hunched over homework. Blissfully unaware that he wouldn't make it to 18. 

The bed was undone, nothing but a naked mattress, but he lied down anyway, fully clothed. He stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, his head filled with thoughts that he had been avoiding all day until he felt sleep pull his eyelids down. Despite the dust and the now eerie feeling in the air, he felt himself drift away. It was so dark in the room. Why was it so dark?

His eyes traveled to the skylight, or at least where he remembered it was. The dark blackout curtains were firmly closed, not letting even a flicker of light into the attic.

'I thought I had taken those down.' Said Lance to no one in particular, before he fell asleep.


	3. The Lion's Den

Blonde hair blowing in the wind. 

Her back was turned to him, and drops of saltwater fly between them as the waves hit the side of the boat. He can hear her laughing, he can feel his cheeks burn with cold and stretch with a smile. 

The clouds above her head are slowly turning from grey to black. Her hair is no longer flowing gracefully, but rather whipping her face and neck. He's scared now, he thinks they should go back. But he doesn't dare to say it. What if she thinks he's a coward?

She's standing on the ship's bow. He walks up to her, hoping that he seems confident, and leans next to the railing, hiding his hands behind his back. He is shaking so much. The wind is cold and cuts like a knife. Her eyes could probably be colder. When she talks, he can't hear it. The wind howls in his ears, demanding his undivided attention.

And then the lightning starts, and the thunder. And the rain, hitting him so hard that it hurts. He goes to grab her wrist, telling her they should go back. It starts to dawn on her that they may be in trouble. She goes on ahead, not even looking at his outstretched hand. Like a wounded puppy, he goes behind her, clutching the railing. Later, he thinks that if they had stayed even if a little longer, they would have been able to see the rocks hiding under the waves.

When the boat hits them, it's too late. The impact is so strong that he stumbles back, feeling the cold, hard metal of the railing pressing the small of his back.

Before he can tell, she's screaming, running to him, and he's falling back. Only instead of hitting the floor, he just keeps falling and falling until he hits the water. The waves hit him in the back like a slap, and them embrace him in their cold arms. A mouthful of salt water is already making it's way down his throat when he finds the strength to push himself up.

No matter how much he swims, he can't get to the surface. His arms keep pointing up, he keeps kicking, he keeps holding his breath, but it's useless. The surface always seems just an inch away, if he only hangs on a little longer, if he keeps fighting...

Lance waked up washed in sweat, releasing his baited breath like a caged bird.

His fingers were wrapped around his sheets, hands shaking violently, but even as he felt the mattress under him and realized that it was all a dream, he still felt water under him. His face burned up as he realized that he had wet the bed.

_Ridiculous._ He thought, getting up. He was 17, basically an adult. Even his little niece was learning not to wet the bed.

He flung his legs out of bed, accidentally hitting something laying on the floor. Grumbling, he realized the room was once again in complete darkness.

It had happened every day for the past two weeks. He would take the blackout curtains out, and sometimes not even hours later they would be back up. Sometimes it happened while he was downstairs, sometimes it happened while he was sleeping. He wondered if it was a prank from Marco or Veronica. Maybe even Luis. 

He took the curtains down violently, ripping them in some parts, and threw them to the floor. With the room now illuminated by the moonlight, he marched back to bed and grabbed the wet sheets, throwing them next to the curtains. Finally, he changed his pajama pants, putting the dirty ones on the big pile of laundry. He forced the mess of cloth down the trapdoor, went down the ladder, and marched towards the kitchen.

The washing machine was empty, and the house was silent. Lance stuffed his clothes into the machine, leaving the curtains out, started the washing cycle, and popped a glass of milk into the microwave.

It was a habit he had picked up from his father. He remembered being a kid, terrified by a nightmare, and having Dad sit him down with a glass of warm milk in front of the TV, watching cartoons. As he watched the clothes spin inside the machine, he wondered why Dad had to be such a nice person. Why he always had to put others first, why he had to be so blindingly selfless. Why couldn't he be like Lance, a selfish bastard that thought getting laid was the most important thing in the world?

His eyes wandered to the calendar that Mom had put on the fridge, held in place by magnets. She had put a big red circle around the next day, the day Lance and Marco would start school at Garrison High and Veronica at Altea Community College. 

Lance knew he was supposed to be getting some sleep, but the truth was that in the two weeks the McClains had spent in the new house, he had barely slept. Knowing that he was sleeping in a dead kid's room was seriously freaky. Every day he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, watching as the bags under his eyes grew. More than once he had considered sharing a room with Marco again or staying on the couch.

He had loved his previous school. All the teachers considered him nice and a good student, only a bit talkative and distracted, and everyone knew him, either from class, the multitude of clubs he was involved in or through mutual friends. 

Mom insisted that Garrison High was a very good school, but she had also said that they would love the new house. And Lance wasn't loving the shivers that ran up his spine as he made his way upstairs, the steps creaking under his naked feet. Luis had promised to fix those stairs, but everyone felt strangely hesitant to change anything in the house. There was this unspoken rule in their minds, almost as if they were respecting the dead.

He started climbing up the ladder, careful not to wake anyone up but stopped midway when he got a glimpse of the attic.

There was someone in his room.

The skylight had been open, and now a boy sat with his legs hanging on the outside, his back turned to Lance. The only thing he could see was black hair, long enough to cover the boy's neck. 

When Lance rose up to his room, the floorboards creaked. The boy turned, his hair moving like a crow's wing, and Lance got a good look at his face in the moonlight. 

The boy had a gloomy face, reminding Lance of a dark cloud, eyes of a deep blue that Lance almost mistook for violet in the darkness, and deadly pale skin. That last feature was what most threw Lance off of his feet. The boy had the kind of skin that you would imagine on a 17th-century aristocratic lady who never left the house. Not on a teenager. That boy was so pale that he was almost transparent.

He didn't seem startled by Lance or even worried that he may call someone. Instead, he took a long look at him, from the head to the toes, and seemed to be mostly unimpressed. Somehow, that was what offended Lance the most.

'What the hell are you doing here?' He asked. The boy sighed, turned back to face the moon, and gave himself a little push off the window, disappearing.

Lance immediately rushed to the window, expecting to see a mess of broken bones in the front yard, but instead, he saw an empty, quiet street. On the other side, Allura was sitting by her window, drinking from a cup of tea. She waved lazily. Lance did his best to return the wave.

If he wasn't wrong, someone had just broken into his room in the attic, sat by his window, gave him the rudest look, and then fell from a height that could certainly kill someone or at the very least break a bone. All that without a sound. 

Lance rubbed his eyes and checked his phone, resting on his bedside table. 5 am. 

He sat on the naked mattress until he saw daw break, pink and baby blue, and until he heard the sound of someone moving downstairs, probably Mom, the only person in the family who liked waking up early. After that, Lance kept staring at the skylight, as if waiting for that mysterious boy to crawl back like a lizard and give some damn answers as to why he was scaring the crap out of people in the middle of the night. 

His alarm clock rang, snapping him out of his stupor. Slowly, mechanically, he rose and got dressed.

In the bathroom, he washed his teeth and face, brushed his hair, and applied some concealer under his eyes. The dark circles had an especially dark color that morning, and Lance knew that it had something to do with that damn maniac. He was probably just a vandal who thought the house was still empty. He would probably not return now that he saw that someone had moved in.

But if it was so, then why couldn't Lance shake off the feeling that he knew that face from somewhere?

* * *

The clicking sound of high heels on the ground was almost inaudible, and yet everyone stopped to listen, following the owner of those steps like the children from the tale of the Pied Piper of Hamelin.

Garrison High hadn't really changed. The faces were new, but the school still kept the same banner on the front, a beast with sharp teeth and the words "GARRISON: HOME OF THE LIONS" in big blue letters against a white cover.

There was a big glass cabinet in the middle of the hallway where the school kept its prizes, but there was another thing there. A framed yearbook picture of a black-haired boy. Put there as a silent reminder. She stopped to look at it.

Allura Altea had spent a lot of time away from home. After her father died little after her 18th birthday, she had been convinced to leave her hometown, the town her ancestors had built, in order to study abroad for a few years. But all that time, she dreamed of coming back home. To set what was wrong. To put an end to lies that were far too big now, far too old. 

She wasn't coming for revenge. She was coming for justice. 

* * *

After getting their schedules and locker combinations, Lance and Marco were set adrift in the middle of Garrison High, a place where apparently everybody had known each other since kindergarten and everybody looked at them like they were zoo animals. 

'Enjoy it while it lasts, Marquito.' Said Lance, combing his hair back with his fingers. 'All eyes on us.'

'You are such an attention slut.' Grumbled Marco, shoving his books into his lockers. 'And people talk about youngest children.'

'Don't pretend like you don't like it.' Lance winked at a group of girls watching them. 'And really, can you blame them? To see a young dashing man strolling down the hallway...'

'Aw, Lance, thank you!'

'I was talking about myself, you tool!'

The first-period bell rang, and Marco left in the opposite direction, while Lance went into his classroom. He sat by the window, watching the poor devils stuck having PE as the first class of the year run around. The rest of the students slowly started filling the room, and Lance looked at his new classmates, throwing them a few smiles. He hoped he didn't look as tired as he felt. 

'Seats, everyone!' Called Allura, walking in. Lance winked at her. She rolled her eyes at him. 

The few students still standing up hurried to sit down. Lance ended up next to a very tall girl with brown hair and kind eyes. 

'Hey. I'm Lance.' He said, offering his hand. She smiled as she shook it. Her hands were rough and calloused, almost as if made of stone.

'Shay. Are you new in town?'

'Just moved in two weeks ago.' Allura sent him a sharp look, so he lowered his voice. 'I live in that big freaky house on Castle Street. The one with the chain-link fence that makes it seem like it's The Walking Dead.'

'Attention, class, I would enjoy that you would all be quiet! Looking at you, Lance!' Allura smiled at the class. 'My name is Allura Altea, I will be your science teacher this year. I'm not much older than you are, so it's fine if you call me by my first name. Except if you're Lance, then you call me Miss.'

'Don't be fooled by this, it's only an act.' Whispered Lance. 'She loves me.'

Shay giggled, but he could see her rolling her eyes.

He looked behind him, hoping someone else had heard the joke, but he saw two kids staring at him like he had two heads. It hadn't been that bad of a joke.

_Tough crowd._ He thought.

* * *

The bell rang, and the students started leaving the classroom, already complaining about school, even though it had only started. Allura smiled fondly. She could remember being that age, so young, so innocent. The world had stretched before her, full of possibilities.

The only thing she hadn't realized then was that not all of them were good.

There was a knock on the door, and she turned around to see a tall man with red hair and mustache, smiling at her. She gasped and jumped into his arms, hugging him for the first time in 6 years.

'Coran!' She screamed.

'Look at you, princess.' He smiled. 'I never thought I would see you in Altea again. I thought you were off to bigger and better things.'

'You know it would be hard to keep me away from Altea.' She said. 'This is my home.'

Coran had been one of her father's best friends and right-hand man in running Garrison, back when he was the principal. While she was growing up, he had acted like a family member. The years hadn't changed him a bit, he still kept the same big smile and kind eyes. 

However, she could see he was worried. He had been the one to advise her to leave Altea, after all. And she hadn't warned him she was coming back.

'Imagine my surprise when they told me that you were back.' He said, shaking his head. 'Did you go back to your house?'

'Yes.' She leaned against her table. 'I know it usually happens the other way around, but it looks so big now that it's just me. Dad's office looks so... empty.'

Coran visibly tensed at the mention of her father. Even after all those years, it was a touchy subject.

Only a few weeks after the Kogane murders made headlines, completely out of the blue. Someone had seen her father's car parked on a quiet street, with him passed out inside. When the paramedics arrived, he was already dead. The coroner's office said it was a heart attack. What else could you expect from a man who worked so much? The stress had probably gotten to him.

Heart attack. She clenched her fists around the edges of the table with so much strength she feared she would be responsible for breaking something on her first day on the job.

'Allura, please don't tell me you still...'

'I think he was murdered.' She blurted out. Coran's face dropped. 'I know you believe it too!'

'I did for a long time.' Sighed Coran. 'Trust me, I did. Your father was the healthiest man I ever met. He ran a mile every morning, for God's sake! But the autopsy...'

'And what if the autopsy was wrong?'

Her words hanged in the air for a few seconds as Coran seemed to assimilate them. His eyebrows knitted together.

'What do you mean?' He asked. 'You think the coroner's office was wrong?'

'I don't think. I know.' Jumping to her feet, Allura grabbed her briefcase and opened it with two ready clicks. Inside she kept a folder from which she extracted a paper. 'Take a look at this.'

Coran grabbed the paper, and Allura saw his eyes widen with every sentence.

'Potassium cyanide?' His eyes blinked slowly. 'Is... is this right? Are you sure?'

'The coroner retired a few months ago.' Explained Allura. 'So I asked for the exams to be retaken. And this is what they found. My dad didn't die from a heart attack, he was poisoned.'

Reaching for a chair, Coran sat down and put his head in his hands.

'He said this could happen.' He mumbled under his breath.

Allura blinked, surprised. Her father had never shared any worries he had regarding his own life. He had always seemed so calm, even in the middle of the hurricane that was the Kogane murders.

'What?'

'We only talked about it a few times. Your father was a very secretive man.' Coran bit his thumb's nail pensively. 'He never elaborated, no matter how hard I pressed. But you may find something in his old papers.'

Allura bit her lip, her mind turning like a whirlwind. 

She had only heard of the coroner's retirement in early winter, and she had been hesitant to contact the new doctor. For years she had balanced between the fervor of knowing she was right but being ignored by everyone and the fear that she was just delusional. But after she had promised herself one last try, one last effort before giving up forever. Her hope was that she had been wrong all along.

But no. Weeks after her request, she had received the results. And it was like being hit with the past in the gut.

Someone had killed her father. Someone had killed the man who had taught her how to ride a bike, who had tucked her in and kissed her goodnight, who had sat her on his knees as he worked. 

She hadn't presented anything to the police yet, but she was set to meet the new coroner soon. She wondered what would come of that meeting.

Besides, she wasn't very confident in the authorities. The Kogane murders were still unsolved after all, and another 6-year-old crime was about as cold as it's victim. The only clue sat between her and Coran.

'It all feels like a bad dream.' She confessed. 'Sometimes I think I'm going to wake up as a teenager whose main worries are finals, shake this whole thing off and continue with my life.'

'If you need anything, you know I am glad to help.' Coran pressed her shoulder, and she pressed her eyelids tightly, trying not to cry. It wouldn't leave a good impression on her new coworkers and students if they saw her teary-eyed.

'I know. I know.' She said, cleaning the corner of her eye.

They had almost left the classroom when Coran stopped in his tracks.

'By the way, I think you may have already heard it, but I think you should know that you're not the only bird that flew back into the nest.' Coran scratched the back of his neck. 'Do you remember a Takashi Shirogane? I think you two used to be very close.'

Hearing Shiro's name had the same effect as touching an exposed wire. She jolted.

'Shiro? Shiro's back in Altea?'

Loud music through the floor. Smoke so thick it went down the hallway where the three of them were standing. The hesitant look she had shared with Shiro before they promised to keep their mouths shut. No matter what happened.

'He's the new school counselor.' Commented Coran. 'I saw him in the parking lot early this morning. You should look for him. I think a reunion is in order.'

Fluorescent lights. The smell of burnt coffee. Her trembling hands. His voice in her ears, with some kind of emotion that she had never heard in him before. A whisper that still haunted her sometimes.

_We promised him, Allura. We promised we would keep his secret. No matter what._

'Yes.' She said. 'I really think it is.'

* * *

Garrison High was surprisingly big for such a small town. Shay showed him the classrooms, cafeteria, and told him where the bathrooms were. They ended their tour outside, with her showing him the school's sports facilities.

'That's the football field, the athletism track is right next to it.' She pointed to a white building. 'And inside there's the pool.'

Lance felt his body tense as his memory brought back the smell of chlorine to his nose.

He had joined the swim team in freshman year, and he was considered kind of a star by his teammates. The coach had even suggested that he could gain a scholarship. But he had trouble imagining himself swimming again. He couldn't even take baths now, and while showering he was careful not to let his head underwater for too long.

A part of his missed the feeling of his body gliding through the water, pushing himself forward with broad strokes, diving, playing around, twirling underwater. But another part of him constantly reminded him of how bad it felt to have your lungs burning, your mouth opening to breathe and finding nothing but water. It terrified him.

Instead of looking at the pool, he looked over his shoulder and found the two kids from class earlier walking behind them.

'Hey, are those two your friends?' He asked as they made their way back to school. Their stalkers were now pointedly both pretending to check some messages on their phone.

'Oh, those are just Pidge and Hunk.' She said, smiling fondly at them. The taller of them, a dark-skinned boy that reminded Lance of a human Winnie the Pooh, smiled back and waved at her. The smallest one, a girl that looked like a bunch of twigs tied together and given sentience, kicked him as to remind them that they were stalkers, and stalkers aren't supposed to wave enthusiastically. 'Nevermind them. They've been acting weird these past few weeks.'

'They were kind of staring daggers at me while we were in class.' A thought crossed his mind. 'Is the big dude your boyfriend or something?'

Shay blushed a deep shade of red and quickly turned her face, pretending to be checking something in her backpack.

'H-Hunk's a friend.' She mumbled. 'I think y-you'll like him. H-He's really nice.'

'Ah, good. Didn't want to start a jealousy crisis.' Even still, Lance glanced behind. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else behind those looks.

He parted with Shay, since they had different classes. She was kind enough to ask him whether he wanted to have lunch with her and her friends, an invitation he gladly accepted. It was good to know he was fitting in.

At lunch, he grabbed a tray and found Shay in the ocean of students. She was sitting with Pidge and Hunk and seemed to be lightly reprimanding them. Lance suspected it had something to do with the whole stalking thing.

'Ah, Lance, so good to see you!' She said, before staring at the two people in front of them. 'Guys, have you met Lance yet?'

'Hi.' Said the big guy, turning his eyes away. 'I'm Hunk. Sorry for stalking you.'

'And I'm Pidge.' Said the girl, shrugging. 'I regret nothing.'

'Yeah, good thing you brought up the stalking.' Lance sat down. 'Not to be rude or anything but... what the hell?'

'We know and we're sorry. Both of us are sorry.' He apologized, staring down Pidge. 'We probably gave off the wrong impression. It's not like we were stalking you, we just wanted to talk to you.'

'Oh.' Lance leaned back, a cocky smile on his face. He caught Marco's eye from across the cafeteria and received a pointed look that told him he would be made fun of back at home for being "as shallow as a kiddie pool". Whatever that meant.. 'Well, who can blame you?'

Pidge leaned across the table, so close that Lance could see her eyes shine curiously. Her glasses had no lenses, which made him wonder whether she was some kind of hipster gremlin.

'Is it true you live in the Haunted House?' She asked, in what seemed to be a purposefully dramatic whisper.

'Do you remember when I said that subtility was a virtue?' Asked Hunk, burying his face in his hands.

'I just want to know if he saw anything weird! Like a ghost or some shit like that!'

Lance had been sipping his carton of milk when Pidge had spoken, and her words made him choke a little.

Midnight black hair. Disaffected eyes. Colorless skin. 

The photo in the hallway that he had seen when they had moved in. A boy with a mullet. A familiar face.

_Holy shit._ He thought through his choaking. _Holy fucking shit._

'Easy, buddy, easy.' Said Hunk, hitting him in the back. 'See, Pidge? This is why I told you to be subtle. You don't go around people saying their house is haunted!'

'What, I just asked him if he had seen a ghost!' Pidge blinked, before turning to him again. 'Did you?'

Lance's mind ran for a second, and he realized saying that a dead teenager visited him in the night sounded like something a maniac would say, and he had barely met those people. He took a deep breath and issued another edition of his flawless fake smile.

'The only thing dead in my house is my hope of ever sleeping in a clean room again.' He sighed. 'There's so much dust. You have _no_ idea.'

Hunk and Pidge shared a look at mixed both doubt and disappointment, but before they could press the subject further Shay started talking about how good it was to be back and how boring summer got after the first month with nothing to do.

From there, the conversation started to flow, slowly at first, but not very long after they were laughing openly, heads thrown back and stomachs hurting. Lance found that Shay was an excellent baker and always contributed to the school's spring bakesale, Hunk had a part-time job at Sal's Diner, the town's finest (and only) restaurant, and Pidge was the school's most prestigious prankster, with a long-standing feud against Principal Iverson. She took care to pre-invite him to her next shenanigan, and while she didn't share many details, she did promise some kind of giant ball pool. Lance was intrigued, if afraid to ask.

However, no matter how hard he tried, he kept seeing those eyes. Those blue- toeing-on-violet eyes, staring at him like he wasn't even there, like he could easily camouflage against the wall.

As he walked though the halls for the last class of the day, he wondered if ghosts existed. And if yes, if they could have personalities. And if also yes, if they could be fucking jerks.

'Hey there.' Said Marco, passing by him. 'You are freakishly pale. Did you see a...'

'Not. Another. Word.' Said Lance, without even stopping.

* * *

Allura had always wondered how Shiro, 6ft tall and almost bodybuilder like, could walk so discreetly. Ever since they were young, he could completely disappear in a crowd if he chose to do so. 

But this was a completely different thing. He was avoiding her. 

She looked for him during breaks, in the teacher's lounge, and in the hallways. The other teachers hadn't seen him either, and when the day came to an end, Allura was sitting in her car and about to give up. And then she thought that there was only one place Shiro could be in if he was back in Altea.

She had thought about Shiro a lot while she was away, but he was hard to find. He didn't have a Facebook profile or any type of social media, she didn't have his address, and at one point he had either changed his phone number or simply decided that he didn't want to talk to her. The last she had heard of him, he was in the military, but that had been very long ago. She had no idea of how he had ended up as a counselor in Garrison High.

They had been close friends, close enough to lead people to think that they were dating. But they couldn't be farther from the truth. 

Their friendship was one of those things that happen when two people are too similar and yet too different. They were overachievers, charismatic, and completely going mad with stress. How many times had one of them dropped by the other's house to get them to eat properly instead of studying their ass off for finals? How many secrets had they shared between the two? How many times had they cried on each other's shoulders?

Keith's death had changed things for everybody in Altea. The students of Garrison High had been advised to seek counsel, and Allura, being the one that found the body, had had a few sessions with a therapist. Many others did too, including people who had never even spoken to Keith and until his name came in the papers had only a vague idea of who he was. Surprisingly, Shiro hadn't done anything. 

She stopped on the way over to buy some flowers, white and pink roses tied with a lilac ribbon.

And then she kept driving towards the cemetery.

Altea didn't like dealing with death, so the cemetery was just outside of town, a square of land surrounded by cypresses. She arrived with the sunset, coloring the sky with shades of orange. The gate was partly open, and the gravedigger warned her not to stay too long since they would soon close.

The cemetery had well-maintained paths that allowed people to stroll around the graves calmly. Allura let her eyes stride along the names engraved in stone until she found the one she was looking for. Alfor Altea.

He had been buried next to her mother, just like he had always wanted. She had died when Allura was so young that she could barely remember her, having only a handful of photographs. She wondered whether her parents would have been more careful to photograph more of their early times as a family if they had known that it wouldn't last too long. 

She placed the flowers on the ground, seeing past bouquets, now withered and brown, probably from Coran. It was good to know that her parents' graves hadn't been completely forgotten. 

The Koganes had been buried in the quietest corner of the cemetery, a place that was mostly forgotten. It was almost as they were being hidden to help the town to forget them and what had happened. But Allura could never forget the bullet exit wounds on Keith's chest, the way his t-shirt was stiff with dried blood, the way his eyes kept staring at the sky without really seeing it. 

That morning, her first thought that been Shiro.

Now he was sitting with his legs crossed in front of Keith's grave, his hands in his lap, his eyes lost somewhere in the horizon. Allura approached him silently, not really sure of what to say. What was there to say?

The last time she had seen him it had been there, in front of those exact same graves. He had held her hand until it hurt; until she was afraid he would break it. Around them, seas of people cried into handkerchiefs, but their eyes remained dry as they watched the coffins being lowered into the dirt. Since the deceased had no family, people had given her their condolences, since she had been the one to find the body. A woman with short hair that Allura was certain wasn't even from Altea had even kissed her on the forehead, telling her how brave she was for facing it all with a straight face.

After everyone was gone, they had sat on a bench and stared at their stiff black shoes. The sun had been so bright, announcing a hot summer for the now-graduated senior class of Garrison High. A summer that one student in that class would never be able to appreciate (or in his particular case, go out wearing all black and then complain he was sweating).

'It sucks.' He had said, after hours of silence.

'It fucking sucks.' She had said back. No other words were said. When night fell, her father placed his jacket around her shoulders and offered Shiro a ride back home. He said he would rather walk, and they didn't fight him. 

Allura now loomed over Shiro and the sight of her shadow made him turn around, startled. The first thing she notices was that his hair was shorter and now showed a white streak in the front.

'Oh.' Was the only sound that came out of his mouth. 'It's... you. I-I thought... Nevermind.'

'Mind if I sit?' Asked Allura, already kneeling in the dirt next to him. They stared at the graved in silence. Someone had placed bouquets of purple hibiscus flowers on the ground next to them, filling the air with a delicate smell.

'I didn't believe it when they told me you were back.' Said Shiro, not even looking at her. 'It's a damn coincidence if I ever saw one. What are the odds that we would choose to come back at the same time?'

'Why _did_ you come back?' Allura finally asked the question that been on the back of her mind for the entire day.

After Keith's death, it had been as if a piece of him had stuck with Shiro. The days that followed the body's discovery were tumultuous ones for him. He kept saying how he wanted to leave Altea and never return, how he blamed everyone, all of them, for what had happened. Sometimes he even seemed to be blaming her. But underneath it all, she could see that he blamed himself most of all. 

'I learned the hard way that running away from your problems only buries you even more.' Slowly, Shiro turned his head towards her. Her eyes went down and she realized that one of his arms was unnaturally stiff, and one of his hands didn't really close. A prosthetic. She remembered one of her old classmates commenting on how Shiro had joined the military immediately after finishing high school. 'I'm here for closure. But I suppose you're here for something else.'

She remembered the briefcase in her car, the coroner's new conclusion. Potassium cyanide. 

Foul play. 

'I suppose I am chasing the same as you.' She said. 'But in a very different way. For a very different purpose.'

And a very different person. 

They settled in a silence that was at the same time familiar and comfortable but also deafening. It hanged like a shared weight, a shared thought: _Could we have done anything that night? Could we have done anything after?_

He had come for her when the news got out. She was sitting on the police station, still with her jogging clothes on, not really sure of what was happening. Sheriff Garrett had placed a cup of coffee next to her, telling her she could talk to them when she felt ready, but she hadn't touched it. She was awake, and that was exactly the problem. She felt everything, she heard every sound. She could feel every beat of her heart.

Then Shiro was bursting through the door, without anyone even trying to stop him. He leaned his head next to her and with their foreheads only a few inches away, they made a promise. For no one would know what Keith Kogane had confessed to them that night before he went home.

A promise they had made to him while enclosed in smoke and that they renewed to each other under the police station's fluorescent lights.

Every day Allura wondered if they had done the right thing. She knew Shiro probably wondered the same thing.

'If you need help, I'm here for you.' He said, and she felt a pang of electricity. Did Shiro know of her plans to avenge her father? 'After losing my arm, I started studying psychology. That's why I'm a counselor now. I want to help people to cope the same way I should have done so long ago.'

'Oh.' It wasn't what she thought. She didn't blame him. Shiro had had enough trauma to last the rest of his life. 'I... thank you.'

'It's just my job.'

From behind, they heard the gravedigger approaching them.

'I'm very sorry, but we're closing now.' He said.

'I understand.' She promised. Shiro nodded, and his eyes seemed to wander once again. 'Can you just give us a couple more minutes alone? I promise we'll be out soon.'

Quickly glancing at them, the gravedigger simply shrugged. Allura wondered if it was obvious how troubled they were. Between the cemetery's dark gates, she seemed to come back to her youth, to the fear of seeing the whole world fall over and crash over itself, like a wave after it hits its peak. 

The sky above them had darkened while they were there. As she realized that the gravedigger would be back soon, she tugged on Shiro's sleeve. Together, they raised and stared at the first stars of the night.

'I wish I had brought flowers.' Commented Shiro. 'But Keith would probably think that's lame.'

Allura's eyes slid to the ground, to the hibiscus. Their purple color seemed eerie in the half-light of nightfall.

'I thought you had brought those.'

'No, they were already here when I got here.' He said. 'I guess someone felt sorry.'

She stared at the flowers for a little longer, the petals open like arms for a hug. Somehow, she couldn't think of a single person who would just randomly leave flowers on someone's grave.

They turned around and silently passed through the gates. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter actually turned out a lot better than I expected!  
> I hope you guys like this Allura and Shiro subplot. It's not going to be a very big thing, but I promise it's going to tie in with the Lance/Keith main plot.  
> And speaking of Keith, we may have a new appearance of our favorite ghost in the next chapter. If I'm feeling nice.  
> Stay tuned, everybody, and please leave kudos or a comment, it means the world to me. Everyone is being really nice, and I feel super good about this fic.


	4. Flicker of a Candle

Truth be told, it wasn't his brightest idea.

But like all of his not-so-bright ideas, this only revealed itself to be a shitty plan when it was already too late. Because when Lance first thought up the plan, it seemed brilliant. If done correctly, it would go without a hitch.

For a few days after their first encounter, the ghost was blissfully gone. Sometimes Lance still felt like there was something, _someone_ , standing next to him, close enough that if he reached, he may touch them, but he could easily brush it off as paranoia. Some nights he would hear something that almost sounded like a cry for help, a cry for help that soon turned into the howl of the wind. At one point he convinced himself that Pidge's talk of ghosts had simply made him confuse a weird dream with reality. Because ghosts don't exist, and neither do boys who jump out of windows unscattered. 

Boys with a face that looked like a bright moon covered by a dark cloud.

So the next time he saw him, he was surprised. Especially because he hadn't expected to see him there, standing in the middle of the upstairs hallway. He seemed too engrossed watching something going on inside one of the rooms to notice him. Lance approached him quietly, as you would do to a wild animal, until he realized he was standing in front of David's nursery.

_Oh hell no._ He thought, rushing to the door. _Not my nephew._

'I've got you now, you little...' He was in the middle of his threat when he looked inside and saw Luis changing a diaper. His brother looked at him with a puzzled expression. 'Uh... hi?'

'What's wrong with you, Lance?' He asked, shaking his head. 'Were you going to curse in front of the baby? Do you want my son's first words to be a curse word?'

Lance looked at the boy next to him. If he looked too intensely, he could see through him. But he wasn't entirely transparent. He was there, looking at Luis like he was some kind of home invader. Because everybody knows that robbers like to bring babies and change diapers while they steal everything from a house. It's a nice touch.

Luis was looking at the boy too, but with only a slightly puzzled expression. As if it only a little strange for a complete stranger to walk into your house. 

'Don't you... Don't you see?' It suddenly dawned that Luis wasn't looking at the boy. His brother was looking at him. 'Luis, please tell me you're seeing the same as I am!'

'What am I supposed to be seeing? You, standing in the middle of the hallway?'

The boy turned his back and walked away from them, probably laughing internally for knowing he had made Lance look like an idiot.

'You can't tell me you didn't see that!'

'See what, for God's sake?!' Luis threw up his hands in frustration. 'There's only you, Lance!'

Lance turned around and started chasing the boy down the stairs. He was now in front of the office door, which Mom opened. She passed through him without even looking up from the stack of papers she was holding.

'Oh!' She jolted upwards, and Lance thought she was going to say something about the intruder. 'I just felt such a shiver! We really need to fix this house's central heating.'

_Unbelievable._

The boy finished his tour of the house by walking into the living room, where Veronica and Marco were watching TV, which in the McClain household simply consisted of fighting over the remote control. He stood behind them for a second, and Lance just watched as they completely ignored him, either too engrossed in their fight to notice him or... completely unable to. 

Lance stumbled backward and ran back to his room, slamming the trapdoor and wondering whether that would do him any good in case the ghost tried to follow him. Because now he had no doubt. That thing, whatever it was, spirit or poltergeist or whatever, was there inside the house with him. With his family. He had images of the ghost standing next to Mom as she made dinner, or next to Marco while he finished his homework. Or right in front of Julia or David, looming over them, his hands, pale as death itself, stretching to touch them.

He fell on the bed and placed his head in his hands, breathing heavily. What if the ghost was underneath him, making his way towards the attic. Who could stop him from simply walking whenever he wanted? Who could stop him from doing something much worse? He obviously felt like the house was his and his alone, and he had no fear of showing that to them.

The cold that Lance always felt whenever he was inside the house was not something of the walls, but of what roamed between them. 6 years the house had been abandoned. It was enough to drive anyone mad. 

Do something. He had to do something. Convince Mom to move to another place, another town. It wasn't too late. Or at least get one of those mediums in the house. If at least he could prove that there was something _malicious_ inside the house...

Lance rose with a jump and opened the trapdoor with a swing of his arm, almost falling off the ladder in his hurry to get down. As he passed David's nursery, he saw Luis giving him a confused look. Ignoring him, Lance ran into the entrance hall, where a few boxes still remained unopened. One of them was labeled "DAD'S STUFF" in letters that were noticeably smaller than all the others.

Kneeling carefully next to the box, Lance waited for a second before opening it. Inside were some of Dad's most prized possessions. A few photographs from Cuba. A pressed flower taped against a piece of paper, a flower that Dad had taken from the restaurant where he had proposed to Mom. And a camcorder that Dad had bought when Luis was just a baby. He had used that camcorder to record some of his children's most important life stones: Luis's first steps, Veronica's first words, Marco's first birthday, Lance's first time swimming. When he had shown up at Luis's wedding with the old thing, everybody had started pressuring him to simply start using his phone.

'Nonsense.' He had said. 'This pretty little thing is older than most of you, and it's never failed me! Now get together, I want to take a picture.'

And so the camcorder had stayed. Dad used it to film Luis and Alicia bringing Julia from the hospital, and had done the same to David.

It was sad to think of such an important piece of his family's history gaining dust inside a box. Lance had never really thought about how excited his Dad looked every time he took a picture of them all together, how proud he sounded to the restaurant's clients every time he showed the multiple pictures he kept inside his wallet. 

He closed the box again and wiped some stubborn tears that wanted to fall. Then, with the camcorder safely in his hands, he went up to his bedroom again.

Operation Catch a Ghost was on the go. 

That night, Lance went to bed early to make sure everything was ready to receive his special guest. He turned the camcorder's night-vision mode on and found a dark corner of the wardrobe that allowed it a clear view of the entire attic. If the ghost tried anything, Lance would see it. 

He still felt a bit silly as he crawled under his comforter, putting his covers up to his nose. Thinking for a bit, he also covered his eyes. He was slowly learning that maybe the blackout curtains weren't just to be angsty. The attic had a fair amount of light, even at night, since it was just lined up with the streetlamps. The amber colored light turned the shadows longer than they really were, sleek silhouettes that almost seemed like people standing in the half-light.

Waiting was the worst part. Every time he heard a sound, a creak of the floorboards or what almost sounded like someone breathing, he felt inclined to peek through the covers. But he feared what he would see. Putting a hand over his heart, Lance closed his eyes and tried to calm himself down with deep breaths. He ran an entire scenario on his mind: waking up the next morning, checking the footage, seeing that there was no boy with paper-like skin or eyes that reminded him of dark windows in the night, nothing to fear. Finally sleeping.

Sleep did come to him, but it was a violent kind of rest, the one that made him twist his legs in his sheets, fast-paced dreams that made him feel like he was in a high-speed car, locked inside, forced to see a bloody and torn landscape. 

Once again, he dreamed of the boat. But it wasn't Nyma standing on the bow, it was that dark-haired boy. With his legs hanging on the other side of the railing, like a goddamn idiot. No matter how much Lance told him to knock it off, he kept looking away from him, his jacket forming a balloon around him as the wind picked up. Lance knew what happened next. The clouds would darken, and the boat would be hit. If he kept staying there, he would fall off.

Lance marched in his direction, warning him to be careful. He knew that in a matter of seconds, they would hit the rocks that were always his demise in these dreams. He was only a few steps away from him when the boy gave a small push and let himself fall.

Lance didn't wait to see him disappear. Before he could think, he threw himself into the sea, hands outstretched to catch the falling maniac. His fingers tried to curl around his jacket's collar, but as soon as he touched him, the other boy turned into foam, cold and shimmering. Lance had only a second to remember about the Little Mermaid stories that he used to read on fairytale books as a child. And then there were only the rocks, their dark edges lurking in the stormy sea like knives.

He woke up with a jump before he hit them, breathing heavily.

Birds were chirping happily on the trees outside, cut only by the annoying sound of his alarm clock. Grumbling, Lance hit the snooze bottom and looked at the camcorder, standing on the tripod where he had left it, untouched. With a jump, Lance got up and grabbed the camcorder. He found the USB cord that connected it to his laptop under his desk, and as the McClain household woke up to start the day, Lance sat down and stared at the video.

The image's colors were a lot paler and fuzzier than in real life. Lance found himself staring at his own face as he set the recorder on, backed away and lied down. The time stamp told him it was from around midnight. He sped up the image.

1 am, 2 am, and all that he could see was himself turning in bed on the corner of the screen. And then, around 3 am, a bit of static appeared on the screen and he saw him, standing by the skylight. There in a blink, with no sound. His heart tumped on his chest, and he muffled a scream. Lance paused the image just to stare at the boy's face for a little longer and found it to be just as he remembered.

He pressed play again and watched the time on the screen progress. The boy just stood there, sitting on the skylight's edge, knees pulled up to his chest. Eventually, after he felt like he had brooded enough, he turned around and actually looked at Lance. The screen didn't allow him to see what kind of look he had sent him, but he hoped it was something different than that "too-edgy-for-you" look he had given him the night where he had first seen him.

And then they locked eyes.

On the screen, the ghost made direct eye contact with the camcorder. Maybe he had known it was there since he had entered the room, or maybe he had only noticed it then, but for a long second, he seemed to be staring not at the lens of the camera but at Lance. 

Some more static. The boy disappeared.

He reappeared without warning directly in front of the camera, leaning so close that Lance could only see his forehead and eyes. Cold eyes, unreadable. With a look that Lance had only seen on feral street cats and dogs. The jumpscare made his heart practically fly out of his mouth.

'Puta madre!' He screamed, pushing himself away from the desk. From under him he heard startled screams.

'Lance, are you ok?!' Asked Veronica, peeking her head inside the attic. She fumbled into the room, still wearing her pajamas. 'Are you hurt? What's wrong?'

'L-Look at this!' He mumbled, setting the video from the start. Veronica stood behind him, fingers tense on the back of his chair, waiting to see what had startled her brother so much. Lance's eyes jumped nervously to the time stamp. 3 am. The witching hour.

The same static appeared on the screen, and with it the ghost. But Veronica didn't scream about some random dude just teleporting into her brother's room in the dead of night. She kept staring, waiting, her grip on the back of his chair never fading. When the jumpscare came, she didn't jump. She just stared, somehow looking right into the ghost's eyes but not really seeing it.

'So...' She trailed off, after it had long dawned on Lance that she simply couldn't see the ghost, whether it was in real life or on a screen.

'Didn't you see anything strange?' Asked Lance, turning his body to look at her. Veronica didn't look scared, she looked confused.

'Do... Do I want to know why you recorded yourself sleeping?' Veronica ran a hand through her hair, sweeping it back, and sighed. 'It's too early for this. Can't you be weird _after_ breakfast?'

Lance saw her go down the ladder, and as he turned back around, he saw him. Casually sitting on his bed, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. A grin on his face. Somehow Lance preferred him when he was broody. 

'Just you wait.' He said, pointing a finger straight at him. 'Just. You. Wait.'

And with a blink, the ghost was gone.

So now Lance knew a few things about him. First off, he was dead. That was a given. Second, he was invisible to most people. And third, he was a fucking dick.

That still left him clueless about how to get rid of him, something he now saw he would have to do alone. On Monday at school he sat on his desk, watching Mr. Slav, the Math teacher, go on about equations, wondering if the ghost would just go away or fall into a coma if he recorded Mr. Slav's lessons and played them back to him when he understood that the answer to his prayers was sitting right in front of him. Literally.

The one who had first talked about the possibility of there being a ghost in his house, now pretending to be deeply engrossed in their Math textbook when he could see that she was actually just playing on her phone.

Pidge.

For most of the class and all of the break that followed, Lance wondered how to ask about ghosts in a casual manner. It was hard with Hunk around, since Lance had already picked up that he was pretty scared of ghosts, and that was especially true in the case of the one that haunted Lance's house. He had the suspicion that if he mentioned ghosts around Hunk, he would have to explain to his mother why a gigantic Samoan man was standing in front of their house with three gallons of holy water.

The perfect opportunity came during English Lit, the last class they had before finally going home. Their English teacher, Mr. Coran, had a reputation around the school as one of the most chill teachers in the history of Garrison High. He also liked to have the students have their own debates and discussions over the books they were reading. And although his intentions were great, he failed to realize that most people talked about anything but the topics given.

'Hey, Pidge!' He called. 'Can you come over here for a second?'

Pidge gave one look to Hunk and Shay, the only people who actually did as they were told, so engrossed in a conversation about the nuances of Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth's hate-love relationship that they barely noticed her as she sat down next to him.

'What?'

'You know a lot of stuff about ghosts and all, don't you?'

'Eh, kinda? I mean, I did some digging on the Kogane murders, so I eventually stumbled on a few things about the paranormal. You know, with the whole ghost rumors and all.' Her eyebrows knitted together. 'Why? Don't tell me you found spooky Keith Kogane haunting the halls.'

_Oh, you have no idea._

'Sorry, but no.' He said, hoping his face wasn't betraying him. 'It's uh... my niece. Yes, you see, some little asshole on daycare told her our house is haunted so now she's scared of everything. And it's an old house, so of course there's a lot of creaking and weird noises in the middle of the night. We tried to tell her there are no ghosts, but she doesn't believe us. So I was wondering if there is any kind of... I don't know, ritual, that I can perform in front of her to calm her down. You know, something that gets rid of ghosts?'

Pidge placed a finger on her chin, and Lance repressed a sigh of relief. Even if she was only pretending to buy his ridiculous excuse (Julia didn't even believe in Santa Claus, let alone ghosts), it was enough to avoid questions.

'You can try the candle method. Some people say it works.' She crossed her ankles together. 'First, you need a jar. Then you light a candle, place it inside, and put it in a dark room where there seems to be a lot of paranormal activity. People say that the ghost will be attracted to the light and enter the jar just before the candle blows out. When it looks like the flame is about to die, you get the lid, close the jar and the ghost will be trapped. Then you only need to make sure the jar is kept intact.'

'Uh-uh.' He said, scribbling the instructions on a piece of paper. 'Do you actually believe any of this crap? Of spirits and shit?'

For a moment, it seemed like Pidge's eyes were a little far away.

'I don't know. I'm all science and mathematics and shit, you know me. I should know better than go believing in ghosts.' She bit her nails nervously. 'But a few weeks ago, before you moved into your house... Hunk and I went there. Just to brag that we had visited the haunted house. And something weird happened to us. It was like there was something in the house that wanted us gone. Or...' She shivered. 'Or dead.'

'What?' Asked Lance, hiding his hands under the table so she shouldn't see how much he was shaking.

'I think that whatever was there, it wasn't afraid to hurt us.' She lowered her voice so only he could hear. 'We almost had a bookshelf dropped on us.'

'What?!'

Lance's fists clenched over his knees. The ghost was definitely crazy. If it wasn't afraid to hurt random people who just passed by, what would he do to someone who spent most of their day in his domain? He imagined Julia or David standing there as a bookshelf started leaning over them, and his vision went red.

 

'Hey, can you two settle something for us?' Asked Hunk, calling them from the desk behind. Lance gulped his anger down. 'We're having kind of a tiff over Pride and Prejudice.'

'Hunk believes that hate can't develop into love, and that's why Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth's relationship could never happen in real life.' Said Shay. 'But I think that two people can actually learn to see past first impressions and fall in love.'

'I believe you're both sappy idiots.' Said Pidge. 'I'm going Switzerland on this one.'

'Sorry Shay, but I'm gonna have to agree with Hunk.' Lance and Hunk fist bumped. 'When I have a first impression of a person, that's final. That's how I'll see them forever.'

'Just a few days ago you thought Pidge and Hunk were stalkers.'

'Oh, don't get me wrong. I still think they're weirdos.' Pidge kicked him in the kneecap. 'Ouch! It's true!'

'Kids, can you settle down?' Asked Mr. Coran. 'Keep to your debates, please. And Pidge, no kicking.'

'Fine, fine.' Pidge sat back and then whispered. 'He didn't say anything about punching.'

* * *

On those moments, he almost felt alone again.

The house was dark and quiet, and so was the night. With his forehead close to the window, he watched the stars and remembered all the times his father had taken him out to teach him about constellations, or the one time he had participated in the middle school's science fair with a paper-machê model of the solar system. The kitchen table had kept patches of glue for years. When he had died there were still some of them.

The new family had scratched them off. They had dedicated a lot of effort to changing the house, putting little useless trinkets over random surfaces, filling every room with noise and laughter. 

Keith liked the nights. They allowed him to roam quietly, try to make things look like they had before. He hid a lot of the said trinkets under the fridge like some jackass cat might do, and sometimes he even hid personal belongings. He had even moved some furniture went he felt strong enough. The family was always puzzled when they woke up, sometimes even annoyed, but the joy of watching them search for their keys was always short. In the end, they found the keys and left the house. And he was still stuck there. Lonely and trapped.

God, how he hated his life.

The change he hated the most was how noisy the upstairs hallway now was. His father used to be the only person who kept a room there, and he slept silently, without even moving. Keith had always wondered why they had so many rooms, and a part of him had wondered whether Dad had ever intended to have more children. If he ever hoped Mom would come back and start a proper family like the ones they were always seeing, with Sunday brunches and movie nights where everyone fought over what they wanted to watch.

As Keith paced around, he stopped in front of the baby's nursery. He found it hard not to. 

He knew that he had come to that house as a baby, but it still felt weird to know that another child was going to grow up there. It wasn't exactly the friendliest looking house on the block. A lot of kids in school had actually asked him if his house had a secret underground bunker, because it looked exactly like the type of house to have one.

More than once he had thought about going inside the nursery. He remembered reading somewhere that babies and small children were able to see things nobody else did. A small part of him hoped that maybe the baby could see him. However, he never had the courage to go inside.

His eyes wandered to the open trapdoor, his old bedroom that was still technically his. There was someone who could see him, apparently, and while he didn't look like a child, he probably had the IQ of one.

During the first years, he had longed for someone to see him, to hear him. But the boy that had occupied his old room was far from what he had imagined his first contact in years with the living world to be. What Keith felt for him was mostly frustration. He wondered if he would like it if someone just barged into his house and set shop in his bedroom.

Still, he kept coming almost every night. He missed the days and nights he had spent there, blasting music or talking with Shiro, two of his favourite things in the world. Like the rest of the house, his old bedroom had changed. But there was still something in the air that was his and his alone, and no brown-haired boys with loud voices could change that.

The only good thing about being dead was that he didn't need to climb anymore, and could simply float up to the trapdoor. However, it did seem like a weak substitute for actually being able to go out into the world.

As soon as he stepped into the attic, he felt like there was something different. But for once, it was for the best.

There was some kind of energy in the room, a warm light that made him feel shivers of pleasure. The warmth spread around his body, and Keith realized that he had actually forgotten what it felt like to feel... like that. Safe. The light felt like an embrace, long arms that pulled him close. He stood stiff and hesitant, which was what he did whenever anyone hugged him. But truly, he couldn't resist. He ended up on the middle of the room, kneeling down.

Someone had placed a candle on the floor, inside a jar. Ever since he had died, Keith found himself drawn to light. The moon, the stars, and sometimes even the sun, when he felt confident enough to walk around the house during the day. It was something different compared to how much he had enjoyed staying inside with the curtains drawn when he was alive.

It looked like the candle had been burning for quite a long time, hot wax dripping into the bottom of the jar. Keith stretched a finger and touched the flame. He didn't burn, but he felt the fire like it was a kiss on the tip of his finger, and that kiss ran up his arm. His free fist clenched over his jeans, digging his nails into his knees. He had missed the touch of somebody else's lips for a very long time, and while this was nice, he couldn't forget that it was only an illusion. A cruel one.

The flame flickered, and Keith realized it was about to die. He prepared to get up but found that he couldn't. He was frozen.

Trapped.

* * *

The days that followed were some of the calmest Lance had experienced ever since that damn day in the summer. And he felt great.

The jar had been hidden in the garage, placed on the high shelf where they kept the toolbox. And ever since Lance had trapped the ghost, it seemed like a weight had been simultaneously lifted from everyone's shoulders. The house felt a little more like their own. For the first time since they had moved in, they felt like they were in control.

Mom threw herself completely into her new idea of starting a catering business, while Luis and Alicia took over the domestic chores. No one but Lance knew why they suddenly felt so free, but everyone felt strangely energized. Fall was almost there, the leaves on the trees already turning brown, but it was still hot. Washed in sweat and wearing tank tops, the McClains launched themselves into a series of repairs: oiling creaky doors, fixing the stairs, doing a general revamping.

Lance and Marco were in charge of painting the living room's walls, changing from a dirty white color to a tone of baby blue that Lance also planned on using on his bedroom. They set old newspapers on the floor and took to painting, although most of the paint was used to throw at each other. When the bell rang, Lance had his face covered in light blue freckles.

'I'll go get it!' He said, hitting Marco with another splash of paint right in the forehead and running to the front door before he could catch him.

On the other side waited a tall woman with dark hair cut short. She stood a little awkwardly, but she was still very intimidating. Lance, who considered himself tall, himself having to tiptoe to look her in the eyes.

'I called.' She said, short and blunt. 'About the stuff.'

A few days before, Mom had gotten a call from a woman who claimed to be related to the Koganes. She had heard the house had been sold and she was looking to retrieve some pictures and personal belongings. A box with the few photos and clothes they had found was waiting by the door, lids open. As Lance bent down to get it, he caught a glimpse of the boy's face, awkward smile and all. He felt a pang of guilt and closed the box hoping that would quench the little voice inside his head that told him his happiness came from someone's misery.

It didn't work.

'Sure, here you go.' He handed her the box, which she held like it was an infant of some sort. Her eyes were gloomy, lost in thought. 'Uh... were you very close with them? The man and the boy who... who were...'

'I used to be very close to the father.' She said, her voice now softer. 'But I hadn't seen the boy in so long I... I'm sorry. Thank you very much, have a nice day.'

She uttered the last sentence so quickly that Lance almost didn't hear her. As she walked away with broad steps, he found his eyes wandering towards the garage.

No. It was safer to keep the ghost somewhere where he couldn't hurt anybody.

Lance went back to the living room, but before he could dwell he found himself with a mouthful of paint. He spat on the newspapers covering the floor and fell over Marco, starting what was truly a paint war.

'Have you guys seen the toolbox?' Asked Veronica, far too used to dumb fights to care. She dodged a spray of blue paint and sighed in frustration. 'Seriously, guys, I need it.'

'It's in the garage, on the top shelf!' Screamed Marco, pounding on Lance. He crouched, and his brother flew through the air, screeching. 'You dick!'

They were rolling on the ground, completely covered in paint and too busy clutching their stomachs to do any actual painting when they heard it. A loud crash and a scream, both coming from the garage. Lance and Marco sprinted to their feet and rushed to the door that connected it to the house.

They found Veronica fallen over to the side, surrounded by junk. The toolbox had opened on the ground, scattering tools all over the garage floor.

'The damn thing fell.' Complained Veronica, rubbing her forehead. 'It hit me!'

Lance stepped forward to help her up, but stopped when he felt a piece of glass crack under his shoe. He looked down and saw the jar, broken into millions of little pieces, and Pidge's warning rang in his head. Make sure the jar was kept intact. 

'I'm gonna see if Luis can help her.' Said Marco, letting Veronica use him as a clutch. 'Lance, do you matter cleaning the garage? Thanks, bye.'

Before Lance could say anything, Marco and Veronica left. Lance took a deep breath and calmed himself. So the jar was broken. No big deal. The ghost had probably ran away. With that thought in mind, Lance crouched to grab a screwdriver. As soon as he did, he was hit with something on the head.

'Ah, fuck!' He screamed. He reached for the thing that had hit him. An oil can. 'Where the fuck did that come from?!'

As he got up, he caught a glimpse of a boy standing with his arms crossed and his lips pursed in anger. A blink and the boy as gone. Lance moved a step to the right just in time to avoid another oil can that would have hit him in the back.

'You asshole!' Screamed the ghost. Although he kept his arms crossed, another can was hurled at Lance. And he had telekinesis. Great. Absolutely great. 'Why the fuck did you do that?! Do you know how claustrophobic I felt?!'

'Easy there, buddy. No hard feeling, right?' Lance eyed the door, hoping that the other boy would lose focus so he could take a run for it. A can rose from behind him and hit him in the ass. 'Ouch! My butt! My precious little butt!'

'Honestly, how would you feel is I locked you into a tiny space for... I don't even know how long it's been!' Lance had accustomed himself to seeing the ghost as a creature of moody silence and quiet contemplation. Hearing him scream was definitely a change. Lance wasn't sure which he hated more, the sad emo or the ball of rage. 'I could kill you right now!'

'Ok, but consider this.' He said, seeing his chance. 'If you kill me, I may end up stuck here with you forever.'

The ghost's face fell, and Lance was tempted to feel offended. An eternity with him was no gift to scorn at, definitely better than standing dramatically by skylights alone. But he had no time to explain why he was the perfect ghost roommate. Instead, he darted to the exit and closed the door behind himself with a bang. Not even a second later, he heard a metallic pang against the wood (he wondered if the ghost had spent his afterlife collecting cans of oil because he had an ungodly amount of those). As he walked away, trying his best not to run and freak everybody out, he heard a voice behind him.

'Just you wait!' Screamed the ghost. 'You have not heard the last of Keith Kogane!'

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, posting regularly? It's more likely than you think.  
> Yeah, so I've been posting a lot. Pretty proud of myself. But school is starting soon, so the updates might become less frequent.  
> What did you think of this chapter? Did you like it? Did you hate it? Please remember to leave a comment, I really like knowing what you guys think.


	5. Quid pro Quo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everybody! Back with chapter 5, and from here on we're going to have some decent talks between Keith and Lance.   
> Anyway, I'd like to thank everybody for the support. I have a lot of ideas for this fanfic and I hope that everybody enjoys reading this as much as I love writing.

Lance was the third of four children. He was used to being pushed around. And he was used to pranks and practical jokes, sure.

But this asshole was taking it damn too far.

As Lance furiously scrubbed his face, he wondered what he had done to deserve such a punishment. Then he remembered the whole jar thing and simply kept scrubbing.

'Hey, Lance, have you seen my... woah!' As always, Marco opened the bathroom door without knocking, simply walking in. His eyes focused on Lance's face and he broke out in laughter. 'Oh my God! My sweet, almighty God!'

'Yeah, yeah, laugh it out.' Groaned Lance, applying more soap to his hands and scrubbing.

'There's a dick on your face!' Marco leaned against a wall, laughing so hard he seemed like he was about to fall off. 'Who was the complete maniac that drew that on your face? Veronica? Luis?'

'I... don't know.' Lance put his hands under the water and sprayed his face. The outline of a dick was still visible on his left cheek, and what pissed him off the most was that it wasn't even a good drawing. The lines seemed to dance around, wiggling, like the artist behind that masterpiece of evil was holding the pen only with the tips of their fingers. Lance reached for the towel and dried his face. The black ink had faded to an ashy grey against his dark skin. 

'Man, this is not being your lucky week.' Said Marco, shaking his head. 'I mean, just this week you fell down the stairs, you put your foot through a rotten spot in the floorboards and just stepped through it... Hey, remember when Mom put that pie resting on top of the fridge so we wouldn't eat it and just as you were passing by it hit you?'

'Yes, I remember. It was yesterday.' He sighed and opened his concealer, dabbing some on his cheek in hopes that no one noticed that if you looked very closely, you could see a dick on his face. 'Also, my homework keeps disappearing, I think there's a rat in my room, and last night when I went to get a glass of water I stepped on a Lego.'

'Ouch.' Marco's words were compassionate, but his face showed how much he was enjoying Lance's tide of bad luck. 'Well, I'll make sure Julia stops leaving her toys around. But you should watch out, because this sounds like bad karma. I think you pissed off someone up there.'

_Oh, you have no idea._

Marco left snickering, and as he closed the door behind him, Lance saw the ghost reflected in the mirror, leaning against the bathroom wall. He had a dumb victorious grin that made Lance want to punch him. 

'A Lego?' He asked, turning around. The ghost remained silent. 'Seriously man, a Lego?! I thought I had been bitten by some kind of wild animal at first!'

'Well, tough luck, buddy.' The ghost shrugged. 'That ought to teach ya not to act like a prick.'

'And you ought to learn not to speak like an old cowboy.'

The ghost gave him a grim look before disappearing. God, how Lance hated him when he just stormed off like that. Who did he think he was?

He looked at his reflection one more time and tried to make a pleasant smile. Today he would have to face a challenge that he had been putting off for too long.

The school counselor.

Mom had been the one to insist that he should probably talk to someone since he hadn't seen any kind of therapist after the accident. And while she assured him the counselor was the loveliest young man she had ever met (Lance felt tempted to remind her that that title belonged to her son), it wasn't enough to convince Lance. So he had spent most of his time coming up with excuses to not going, from making up a headache to simply bailing. Until Marco had snitched on him. Now he was being coerced by the entire family to visit this man and talk to him about his problems.

Lance would rather, with no exaggeration, stick a fork into his own eye and bleed out to death.

He parted with Marco in front of the counselor's office and waited until the hallway was empty to knock on the door.

The counselor's office was a small space, but it wasn't by any means cramped. A small window on the far wall let a soft light inside, showing light grey walls decorated with inspirational posters, a desk, and a few bookshelves. There was a man sitting behind the desk nursing a cup of coffee, and if he was the school counselor, then Lance was pleasantly surprised.

He was very handsome, for starters. With the scar that ran across the bridge of his nose and the kind of jawline that you could probably use to shred cheese, he had the kind of rugged good looks that you might expect to find on a model. But he also seemed strangely approachable, like he was about to invite Lance for a game of catch. With a shiver, he realized that if this man was Cuban, chubbier, and older, Lance might have mistaken him for his father.

'Ah, you must be Lance.' The man rose from his chair and shook his hand. Lance couldn't help but notice one his arms was a prosthetic. 'I'm Takashi Shirogane, the school counselor. You can call me Shiro, everyone does. Sit down.'

Lance looked around, kind of expecting to see one of those chaise-longues that always showed up in therapists offices in movies, but only saw a normal chair. He tried to pull off a look of nonchalant confidence, but he felt really nervous. 

'So, uh, sorry for skipping my appointments.' He said. 'I've been busy.'

'Lance, I would like for us to be honest.' Shiro sighed, shaking his head. Lance kind of expected him to say he wasn't mad, he was disappointed. 'Trust me, I know that opening up about your feelings can be scary. But it's necessary. There is a lot of stigma around seeking help, but I just want you to know that there's nothing to be ashamed of.'

Lance felt a bit of tension leave his shoulders. Shiro had the strange gift of being at the same time stern and kind, so his reprimand just felt like advice from an older brother. 

'Ok.' He said, making a smile. Not a big, flashy one, just a twist of the lips.

'So, how is Altea treating you this far?'

And just like that, Lance remembered the creature of hell that was haunting him. Well, creature of purgatory, really. But it didn't matter where it came from, it mattered that it just wouldn't leave.

He eyed Shiro, questioning what he would think if Lance told him he was living in a house haunted by an angsty teenager. He doubted this man, who looked like a hunky librarian, would be very open to the idea of ghosts. If he joined that to the information he had on Lance, he would probably just think that the accident had made him insane and have him committed.

But he still wanted to talk about it.

'Honestly? Kind of weird.' Shiro raised an eyebrow, inviting him to continue. 'You see, I'm kind of living in the haunted house.'

'Haunted... house?'

'Yeah, the one with the murders.' He noticed the way Shiro's hand gripped the mug until the knuckles turned white, and he feared that the poor thing would shatter. A quick look at his counselor's face showed him he looked a bit scared. No, not quite scared. It was something else. 'Are... are you ok?'

'Yes, continue.' Shiro put his mug down in an almost mechanical way, without breaking eye contact. 'Are the murders disturbing you? The fact that they happened in your house?'

'If I'm being honest, yes.' He felt like he had taken a wrong turn, but now that he was on the highway, he kind of couldn't stop. 'Also, I think I'm sleeping in the dead kid's room? Super creepy.'

'Keith. His name's Keith.' Lance blinked, surprised. Noticing what he had said, Shiro cleared his throat and regained some of his composure. 'It may help if you stop looking at him like a dead kid. Focus on the person, and it may help you to think of it in a different way. He was kind of your age when he... passed away. People here have learned to fear that house because something terrible happened there. They forget that it happened to actual people.'

It felt like they were straying away from the original topic, and Lance grabbed the chance. If it meant avoiding his problems, he was all in. 

'It seems like you really know what you're talking about. Did you know him? Keith, I mean.'

Shiro waited so long to answer that Lance thought that maybe he had simply shut down. When he spoke, his voice seemed to be coming from the bottom of a well.

'We were... friends.' Lance waited for him to elaborate, which he did after what seemed like several deep breaths. 'It really affected the community, you know? Altea is not a place where bad things happen. At least not so close to you. And that's a very delicate balance to maintain. A shock like that... it's hard to move on. It keeps you trapped in the past.'

'Yeah, that's not for me.' Lance shrugged and grinned. 'I like to keep my eyes in the future.'

'Is that so?' Just like that, the tone was back. It was the same tone that Mom had when he told her he had done his homework when he actually hadn't. Shiro's eyes seemed like small lie detectors. 'You never think about the past?'

Lance gulped, almost swearing he could taste salt water in his mouth. They were getting too close to discussing his problems again. Quickly, he tried to hide how scared it was that Shiro was going to bring up the accident.

'What's done is done, right?' His voice came out too high for his forced nonchalant tone. 'It's not like I can go back and change what happened. No matter how much I want to.'

And oh, how much he wanted to change. To go back in time and slap himself in the face before he got into that stupid boat, before they hit those stupid rocks. For a second, he knew that his face showed just how much he wished it was possible to send a letter to his past self. 

'Tell me, are you signed up for any extracurriculars?' The change of subject threw him slightly off balance, but he was relieved. He didn't think it would cause a good first impression to break down in tears during his first appointment. 'Garrison has a lot of good options. Multiple sports, a drama club, a choir...'

'Oh, you do not want to hear me sing.' He laughed. 'But uh, I might check out the drama club. I was in a few plays in my old school.'

Shiro began telling him about the auditions, but Lance's mind felt elsewhere. A part of him was in the white building that Shay had told him was the pool. A part of him was on the water, floating with his belly up. Feeling like he was flying.

And another was staring the ghost in the eyes. Eyes that seemed deeper and scarier than the ocean itself.

Now that Shiro reminded him that he had died when he was the same age as Lance when he died, he couldn't help but feel... weird. He wasn't at open war with a thing anymore. He was dealing with a boy. A boy with a name. 

So although he would never admit it, he was beginning to think he might have been wrong in trying to get rid of him. Sure, he was a dick, but he couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him. Lance wouldn't be cheerful too if he was violently murdered.

Why couldn't he just leave him alone? Lance's life was already complicated enough without having supernatural troubles. If the ghost (Keith, his name is Keith) simply disappeared, then everything would be much easier for both of them. 

Suddenly, a thing Shiro had said rang in Lance's ears. Hard to move on. Trapped in the past.

He stared at his hands, realizing now that he had the key to solve his problem. If he was right, then he knew a way to get rid of Keith for good.

'Would you look at that, I think it's time for you to go!' Shiro's voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he found himself back into the tiny office. 'It was nice to meet you, Lance. And don't be too hard on yourself. It's your senior year, you should enjoy it.'

'Thanks.' Lance put his backpack over his shoulder and smiled. 'You know what? I think this really helped me out, after all.'

Shiro sat back down on his chair as he watched Lance leave. He seemed like a good kid, but Shiro could see a slightly panicked look in his eyes that he remembered seeing all too well a few years back. Those were the eyes of someone who was keeping a secret. A secret with the potential do eat someone up, to destroy everything that was recognizable until the only thing left was the bare bones of who someone used to be.

A boy with a secret too heavy for a teenager. And, if Shiro's eyes hadn't deceived him, the faintest outline of a dick drawing on his face.

* * *

Allura had only spoken with the doctor that had performed her father's second autopsy once, through the phone. She was still in London at the time and had just received the results through a letter. It had been a tense conversation, and it had ended with her promising to go to Altea as soon as possible. They had marked a meeting for a few weeks after the beginning of the school year.

October was approaching with full strength that afternoon, brown and orange leaves already spotting the ground as she left Garrison High and started the journey south towards the nearby city of Drule

Drule and Altea had been built around the same time, but while Altea had remained a little town, Golion had grown into a city. Despite being only a few miles away from Altea, it was a completely different atmosphere. Wherever she looked, glass and steeled looked back. It was a monster of progress, simple as that. But it was also the safest place to meet. Altea was full of prying eyes, and in a town where everybody knew everybody, it usually meant that everybody knew everybody's business.

The meeting had been set to take place in a popular coffee shop overshadowed by a gigantic building. Allura paid for parking and made her way through a crowd of executives in suits, all too busy yelling into their phones to notice her. 

The coffee shop was a clean and open space, but it felt incredibly unwelcoming despite its efforts to seem trendy and cool. Everything seemed to be made of sleek metal, the lights were a little too strong and the AC was turned up too high for the time of the year. Allura regretted leaving her jacket in the car as she felt her arms covered in goosebumps.

After ordering a terribly overpriced green tea, Allura took a seat on an empty table in the only corner of the room where there weren't people yelling. The only person close to her was a man who was too busy reading to notice as she sat down. His coffee was sitting on the edge of the table, cold and forgotten.

She took a seat and cupped her mug of tea, eyeing the door. She had never met with Dr. Samuel Holt in person, so she had no idea of what he looked like. All she knew was that he was the only one who could give her an actual clue as to what had happened to her father. 

Investigating a cold case was hard, especially if you were on your own. Coran, sweet as always, had offered all his help, but not even him knew everything about her father or why anyone might want to kill him. She had gone through box after box of old papers that her father had left behind, but none of them rang a bell. His computer showed nothing but work e-mails. There was nothing that could make her see why anyone could possibly want to kill him.

The door opened, and Allura felt her eyebrows rise. If she wasn't wrong, the girl that had just walked in was one of her students.

'Katie?' She asked, as she watched the girl march in her direction. 'What are you doing here?'

'Miss Allura?' The girl blinked, slightly confused. 'I... Are you here to meet someone?'

'I am, actually.' Allura sneaked a look towards the door. 'But I believe he's late.'

'Are you here to meet Dr. Samuel Holt?'

Allura felt herself frown. And then the slowly connected the dots. If she wasn't wrong, Katie's last name was...

'Did you come with your father?' She asked. She couldn't understand why Dr. Holt, a man who sounded perfectly reasonable on the phone, would bring his teenage daughter to a meeting to discuss a dead man's poisoning. But when she saw Katie's face drop, she understood what had happened.

'My father died, Miss Allura.' She kept her head low, eyes trained on her feet. 'This winter.'

'Oh, I am so sorry.' Allura raised herself from her seat and placed her hands on the girl's shoulders. She had never realized just how much she looked like a bird, all frail bones and sharp features. If she recalled correctly, she had heard her friends call her Pidge. 'Would you like to drink or eat something?'

'No.' Pidge raised her face, and while her mouth seemed twisted and her eyes seemed hazy, she looked perfectly collected. 'I just need to talk to you.'

'Very well.' Said Allura, sitting down once again. She watched with a mix of confusion and curiosity as Pidge sat down and took a deep breath. 'How did you know I was meeting up with your father?'

'He kept an agenda. I just saw that he had a meeting with someone named A.A and I decided to show up. Why were you meeting up with my father? Is this about his work?'

Allura felt a silent alarm go off inside her head. Her investigation was still a secret that only Coran knew, and she doubted that sharing that secret with a high schooler was a good idea. She measured her words carefully, speaking slowly.

'Well... I suppose I could say so. But it's a very personal matter and...'

'It's about poison, right?'

Allura gave a sudden jump that almost spilled her tea. Pidge stared at her, half proud and half defiant. Waiting for her answer.

'How do you know about the poison?' She asked, leaning closer and whispering. 'Seriously, you cannot tell anyone about this, I...'

'Relax, it's not like anyone would take me seriously.' Pidge leaned back in her seat, her chair almost touching the one of the man in the table next to them. 'I developed kind of a reputation as a conspiracy theory freak on Altea over the past few months. If I marched into the police station and told the sheriff the sky's blue, he would probably go outside to check.'

'And how did you win that reputation?'

'I can't say that it's all lies, of course.' Pidge's eyes danced away from Allura. 'I will admit that I was a little... shocked, at first. And I might not have been the most peaceful person. But that doesn't make me wrong.'

Allura studied the girl sitting in front of her. Pidge was a good student, that much was clear. She was younger than all the other students in her class, and Allura had heard that she had skipped a year since she had such good grades. All the other teachers seemed to agree that she had a fantastic brain, although there was a general opinion that if she wasn't one of the best students in Garrison High, she would have been expelled years ago. And while her eyes showed defiance, like she was just asking her to try and refute her, Allura could see that she just really wanted someone to believe in her. Someone to listen.

'Wrong about what?'

'My father's death.' Pidge raised a finger. 'The poisoning of Alfor Altea.' Another finger. 'And the murder of the Koganes.' A third finger. 'I believe these crimes are all connected.'

They were both in silence for a second, the weight of their secrets heaving between them. 

'I... I do have to admit that it may seem strange at first.' She sighed and met Pidge's eyes. 'But you... you might be on to something.'

'What I think is that someone is going to great lengths to hide something.' Pidge chewed on the inside of her cheek for a few seconds. 'The only problem is that I don't know what it is, or who's behind it.'

'Is that why you're here? Is that why you're telling me all this?' Asked Allura, tilting her head to the side. 'Do you want my help?'

'It's more of a this for that thing, actually.' Pidge reached for her backpack and unzipped it, revealing a book with a red and blue cover. Allura frowned for a second until she realized that she had seen that book before. 'You know what this is, right?'

'That's my father's diary, isn't it?' Pidge took the diary out of her backpack and laid it on the table. 'Where did you find this?'

'That will remain my little secret.' Allura raised an eyebrow. 'I broke into Principal Iverson's office and found it in a locked drawer. It was just a matter of picking the lock and voila.'

Allura knew that she should probably give her a lecture about not breaking into the principal's office, but she was too busy being impressed. Of course. She had forgotten that her father had had another office while working as Garrison High's principal. And given that the diary had remained unfound for 6 years, she guessed it had been a wise choice, keeping his secrets in front of everybody. 

'You also said this was a "this for that thing".' Slowly, hesitantly, she let her eyes rise up from the diary and back to Pidge. 'What could you possibly want from me?'

The girl leaned in her direction, and Allura felt like she was suddenly in a poker game, every one of her expressions being watched in search for some kind of bluff. A reaction.

'I want you to tell me about the last time you saw Keith Kogane alive.'

If Pidge was looking for a reaction, she found one. Allura's teeth immediately clung to her lips, biting them so hard that they almost drew blood. 

The last time she had seen Keith alive. The smell of cheap cigarettes and spilled booze on the floor. The upstairs hallway of the house where the party was being held, Keith's low voice, Shiro's gritted teeth, the way their hands were clammy and cold as they put them together and made their promise. Under no circumstance. 

She had stood by Shiro's side by the window, watching Keith climb on top of his motorcycle. He had waved them goodbye without paying much attention, too busy putting his helmet on. Shiro's fingers had tightened around the window frame, and she had placed a hand on his shoulder and told him that everything was going to be ok. Instead of responding he had given her a look that had a simple question.

Why?

Why was Keith so careless, so reckless? If only he had thought, if only he had listened to them, maybe he wouldn't be in that situation, against the sword and the wall. It felt so unfair. All their lives they had been told that adults would take care of every bad situation, but as Allura saw the red motorcycle drive off into the night, she understood that no adults could save them. 

She had carried that distrust into the interrogation room. With her nails digging into her thighs and her eyes locked with a policeman's, she lied. And they bought it. She didn't tremble or break under that horrible light that seemed to burn her eyes, but somehow this little girl seemed much more intimidating than any of the men who had asked her questions. There was something in her eyes that told Allura that she wouldn't give up if she just played dumb like she had done at her interrogation. 

And Allura couldn't help but understand her. They were in the same boat, looking for justice for their fathers, who couldn't look for it themselves. But something told her that Pidge was starting to disregard any rules that stopped her from finding the truth. First, there had been breaking into Iverson's office. Maybe even more things. 

She barely knew the girl, but she feared for her.

'I can't tell you.' Said Allura, letting a sigh leave her lungs. Her eyes hung to the diary for one last second before she tore them away. Shiro had been as firm as a stone about keeping what they knew a secret. If he could do it, then so could she. 'I'm sorry, but I really can't.'

Pidge seemed more than disappointed with her answer. She bit her lip nervously.

'Can you at least tell me something? It's a yes or no question.' Allura pondered, taking a sip of her tea. It had already gone cold, and it tasted bitter in her mouth. She nodded. 'The police report says Keith Kogane left the party little before midnight. Is this correct?'

She scanned the girl sitting in front of her, wondering what were her intentions. Pidge responded to her questioning look with a firm expression.

'Yes.' She ended up saying. 'I can't tell you anything more, but I can confirm. I saw him leave before midnight.'

The diary slid across the table, and Allura set her hands over the cover. It was damaged at the corners, but it was obviously her father's diary. A part of him come back to help her. She raised her head to thank Pidge, but she was already making her way out of the door. Allura stared down at her cold tea and sighed, leaving it behind. With the diary against her chest, she got up and left the coffee shop.

A man stayed sitting on his table, his book still open but now forgotten in his lap. His eyes just stared blankly at the pages, letters and numbers suddenly mixing up before his eyes. He could feel a drop of sweat making its way down the curve of his neck. He hurriedly cleaned it, wiping his clammy hands down on his pants. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and had to contain himself not to jump.

'Yes, father?' He said, picking up the phone. A deep voice responded on the other end of the line.

'Seems like we have problems in Altea.' He didn't like that word, problems. It never meant anything good when it came to his father. 'Luckily, I think I finally found a use for you.'

* * *

Going up the stairs was exhausting.

When Keith had started the pranks, he knew he would tire himself out. Some of them were simple, like taking things out of Lance's backpack during the night, but the drawing on the face had been hard. Although Keith could tell that he was going to have a good time in the morning when Lance found out, he was also displeased with the wobbly lines. It had been so long since he had actually used a pen.

He stopped in the middle of the stairs. He had been going up for five minutes now. He hadn't felt that tired for years, his limbs felt as heavy as iron.

_Why do I even bother with that asshole?_ He thought, continuing his climb like it was Mount Everest. The boy that was now in his room was just like any other of the self-centered kids he had met in school. Too busy trying to be the center of attention to care about anything else, caring so much about appearances that they only took one look at him before making their judgment: not good enough.

This boy, this Lance, or whatever his name was, wasn't much more than the people Keith had grown with. Starved for popularity, believing the world moved around himself. He was usually able to ignore people like that, but the problem with Lance was that Keith couldn't escape him. 

He had known he was going to have trouble when he saw the moving truck parked in front of the house. He guessed the house had passed down to an aunt of his father who lived in Texas, and he guessed that she wanted nothing to do with a murder house. But after 6 years, he had expected it to be empty forever. He hadn't expected a big, loud family, with kids and teenagers.

He hadn't expected a battle for dominance. Especially for his own bedroom.

Keith finished the climb up the stairs feeling that if he could sweat, he would be doing it. A voice in his head that sounded too much like Shiro chastised him for wasting so much time and energy on annoying some random dude.

_It's not like you can blame him for freaking out._ Said Shiro, the conscience. _Imagine if you had been the one to see a ghost. It would definitely freak you out. And you would have probably done something way worse than he did._

Keith hated how Shiro always seemed to be right, even when he wasn't even there. 

True, he knew he was going overboard with this whole thing. More than once he had scared himself thinking that he had hurt Lance, which wasn't his objective. He didn't want to hurt anyone, he just wanted...

Well, he wasn't sure. He hadn't thought that far ahead. He had kind of sworn vengeance in the heat of the moment and now he was just rolling with it. 

What did he want? His room back, for starters. To be able to ride his motorcycle once again, without a helmet, like his father and Shiro were always telling him not to do. To be able to eat, that would be nice. This new family always seemed to have the most delicious food for dinner, and it killed Keith that he could taste none of it. But it wasn't like he could be much more killed than he already was.

What he wanted more than anything was another afternoon with Shiro. It didn't even have to be a memorable one. They could just go to their secret place in Lake Bakku and stare at the water in silence. Maybe Keith could light a cigarette just to have Shiro take it away from his mouth and crush it under his shoe. He would say something about how he would not take care of him if he got lung cancer, to which Keith would respond with a smile because he probably would. Or they could grab a milkshake at Sal's Diner and sit in the booth in the back that was basically theirs just to talk so no one could hear them. Or do their homework, even though they were already out of high school. He missed the afternoons spent on Shiro's bedroom trying to make sense of equations. He missed being able to raise his eyes just to see him scribbling on his notebook, a crease of concentration on his forehead.

He wanted to walk into the office and see his father drinking coffee from a cheesy "#1 FATHER IN THE WORLD" mug that Keith had bought him as a last minute Father's Day gift. He wanted to sit on the kitchen counter while they warmed up noodles, sit next to him as they watched documentaries on TV, maybe fight one more time. He had never understood how his father could remain so calm whenever Keith lost his head. 

Above all, Keith wanted to be alive. Or at least properly dead. Being a ghost meant that you never got to experience the things that made you happy again, but you had a front row seat to everybody else living without you. It was like he had fallen out of the car and the car continued moving.

Rising up to the trapdoor was difficult, and when he stepped into the attic, he found it almost completely dark. They had thrown out the blackout curtains, but apparently, Lance had found a substitute. The new curtains seemed to be dark blue, letting only a small amount of light into the room, just enough so Keith could see the silhouettes of the furniture. And on the end of the room, the bed. A figure seemed to be lying face-down. Keith approached it, already feeling fire burn in his throat.

He found himself looking at the boy who now slept in his bedroom too many times, and each time he did it, he felt bile in his mouth. Because that boy had everything Keith wanted. He had a loving family that obviously thought he had put the moon in the sky, he always came home talking about the hilarious thing one of his friends had said during lunch, he was alive, with a beating heart and rosy cheeks. So why was it that he looked sad sometimes? Couldn't he see how great his life was compared to Keith's crappy existence?

He stared at the figure under the covers. It was lying still as stone, and something Keith had learned was that that damn boy was always moving, even in his sleep. He touched the figure's shoulder, his fingers going right through. There was no shiver, no movement.

A click came from behind him and light flooded the room. For a moment, Keith feared he had fallen into another trap, but when he turned around he only saw Lance, sitting at his desk with his legs crossed.

'I'm glad you could join me here today.' He said, as if they had planned to meet.

'Was the whole hiding in the shadows like a James Bond villain really necessary?' Asked Keith, raising an eyebrow. 'Or was that just to be dramatic?'

'I'm not here to answer stupid questions. And I'm not here to fight either.' Lance gulped like he was trying to swallow something bitter. 'I'm... I'm here to offer you an olive branch.'

'An olive branch? You mean a peace offering?'

'Yeah, genius, that's usually the meaning of the expression.' Lance caught himself, breathing deeply. 'The thing is... I know why you're such a dick. You want to cross over but can't. So you take it out on me, an innocent bystander.'

'I'm sorry?' Keith found himself leaning forward, in the vain hope that Lance had actually said something smart. 'First off... cross over? What is this, The Ghost Whisperer? And I'm not a dick. I'm just someone who wants to be left alone. I take it out on you because you're the bane of my existence and no matter how hard I try to drive the point home, you just won't leave!'

'Ok, Keith, think for a little.' It was the first name he said his name, and he hated the way he pronounced it, pure frustration in every syllable. 'Your father also died in his house, right?'

Keith felt his body tense up at the mention of his father. His fists balled and he felt himself burn with a hatred even stronger than before.

'Don't talk about my father.' He said through gritted teeth.

'Really, think about. He also died here, but you're the only ghost here.' Lance paused, as if he expected Keith to reach some conclusion. He didn't. 'That means that whatever this state of yours is, it's not normal. Now, I've done some research...'

'Oh, I was right. You watched The Ghost Whisperer, didn't you?'

' _I've done some research_ and I found that when spirits won't leave the earth, it's because they have something holding them back.' Another pause. Keith was starting to see that Lance was a big fan of dramatic pauses. 'So? What's holding you back on earth and stopping you from going up to Heaven to angst with angels for the rest of eternity?'

The thing holding him back. The dead weight that seemed to pull him down whenever he was starting to feel too happy.

'Why do you care?' He asked, already feeling the heavy sadness that came to him whenever his mind lingered too much on his last night alive. 'It's not like you can do anything about it.'

'God, you are dense!' Lance screamed, throwing his head back. 'What, you think I'm asking you about this so we can chat over some coffee? No. I want to help you.'

Now those were five words Keith never expected to come out of that walking headache's mouth.

'You want to what now?'

'Think about it, ok? You hate being stuck on earth and you take it out on me. And I hate having you here because you ruin everything. So we are both miserable, right?' This time, Keith nodded when Lance made a pause. It seemed to make him get to the point quicker. 'So if I help you cross over, or whatever you want to call it, technically I am helping myself too. I help you, you go away, I live the rest of my days without having to deal with you. Quid pro quo, as simple as that.'

'Do you even know what quid pro quo means?' Scoffed Keith.

'My sister-in-law is a lawyer.' Explained Lance, puffing out his chest like he was the one with a Law degree. 'But that's not important. All I need if for you to tell me what is your last wish before you leave this material world and we'll be on our way.'

Keith ran his eyes across Lance's face for a second, repressing a sigh. He genuinely looked cocky, like he actually believed that he had any chance of helping Keith. Like anyone had.

'Fine.' He said, raising an eyebrow. 'I can't "cross over" or whatever because of my murderer.'

'Huh.' Lance chewed on his lip, deep in thought. Keith wondered if he knew how much of an idiot he looked like when he did that. 'Should have supposed it would be something like that. But if you want justice for your death and all, then I can drop an anonymous clue at the police station or something and get the bastard behind bars. You just tell me who it was and...'

'No, I don't think you understand.' Keith rubbed his temples, feeling the frustration that always came when talking to Lance. 'I don't know who killed me.'

'What do you mean by that?!' Lance threw his arms up in the air, groaning. 'How can you... Why... Ugh, it's like trying to work with a kindergartener.'

'I just don't remember, ok?!' Keith was coming dangerously close to beginning to scream. 'I simply woke up one morning and I was surrounded by policemen. I got up and when I looked down I saw my body. And I honestly couldn't remember what the hell had happened. So yeah, that's why I can't cross over. If you want to solve a 6-year-old cold case, be my guest. But otherwise, just leave me alone!'

Lance stared at him, head cocked to one side. 

'What's stopping you from solving the case yourself? I mean, you're invisible. You seem to have telekinesis. You float, for God's sake!'

'Give me that pen.' Said Keith. Lance reached for a pen on his desk, the same one Keith had used to draw a dick on his face just that morning. Keith waited, his palm outstretched. When Lance dropped the pen, it went right through his hand and hit the floor. 'See, I can't touch anything. And I mean anything. I can go through stuff, sure. And yeah, I can lift it if I focus hard enough. But you have no idea the energy that it takes just to get a rock. Just the little stunts I've been pulling on you have tired me out. Not only that, but I can't really leave the house's limits.'

'Why, ghost police comes after you?'

'No, you idiot.' Keith rolled his eyes. 'The farthest I can go is the sidewalk. If I run, I can almost cross the street. But in a blink, I'm right here again. That means no access to the outside world, no way of getting any clue of what the fuck is happening.'

'Ah.' Lance leaned back in his chair, eyes on the ceiling. Keith waited in silence for his resignation, for him to simply give up and go to bed. He had given up after he realized it was impossible for him to change anything, after all. So if they could simply continue hating on each other and pretend that that conversation hadn't happened, they would both be much happier. 'Well, it'll be hard. But I guess we can do something about it.'

Keith stared, grasping for words. Was this idiot so arrogant that he actually thought he could solve a cold case?

'Ok, Mr. Smartass, tell me exactly why you think you can solve crimes better than the cops?'

'I happen to have something they don't. Well, two things.' Lance smiled. 'One of them is the actual murder victim, who may be a complete jackass but at least must know _something_.'

'And the second?' Asked Keith, already regretting his decision to give Lance any kind of attention.

'The perfect combination of dashing good looks and a brilliant brain.' The teeth behind the cocky smile were infuriatingly straight and white. Keith wondered why terrible people kept being blessed with Colgate smiles. 'Don't you see it, we just need you to remember what happened that night! I'll get you some stuff to try and trigger any memories and you'll do the rest of the work. It'll be like a group project!'

He was smiling like a kid on Christmas, but Keith was still hesitant. What could this self-absorbed brat know about solving crimes better than the police? It felt like he was dangling hope from a piece of string in front of Keith's face, holding it out for him until he actually tried to reach it. He couldn't shake off the feeling that he would end that entire thing feeling disappointed.

'I have a condition.' He said. 'If this goes nowhere, then you leave this room and I never have to see you again. You lock the door behind you and you just don't come in anymore. If I can't have my house back, at least I want my own space.'

'But I sleep here!' Complained Lance. Keith crossed his arms, showing that he would not move in his decision. 'Ugh, fine. I agree with your stupid condition.'

'Good. I would shake your hand, but...' Keith looked at his own hands. He was so weak, so transparent, that he could see the floorboards under his palms. 'You know.'

'And one more thing.' Lance raised his chin at him, sending him an icy stare that Keith was not shy to return. 'Don't go getting any ideas, ok? We're not friends. I still hate you.'

Keith scoffed, rolling his eyes as he made his way towards the trapdoor.

'Right back at you.'


	6. Dead Man's Tale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I finished this in kind of a hurry because I'm going on a trip tomorrow and I probably won't have time to write during the weekend. Meanwhile, I leave you with this. Cheers!

One thing that Keith insisted they should have was a corkboard. Lance made fun of him, saying they would look like they were trying to find a UFO crash site, but in the end, he complied and stole a corkboard that they kept in the kitchen to put bills and schedules. With some red yarn he had stolen from his mother's sewing box and a map of Altea that he had copied from Google Maps, they were ready to go. 

After making his deal with Keith, Lance had been able to fall asleep much easier. But once he woke up, he realized that he had no idea of how you investigated a murder. So he had spent his day at school watching crime shows on his phone instead of doing any actual work. He had made it halfway through the first season of Castle and covered some Elementary episodes before realizing he was as ready as he was ever going to be.

So now, as he stared down at the corkboard he had carried up the trapdoor alone, even though Keith was the one who could lift things up with his mind, he felt two blue eyes staring at him maliciously. About to crack a joke at his expense.

'Ah, the great detective at work.' Lance breathed deeply and counted to three. He could now see why someone would want to murder Keith. 'Aren't you going to ask me questions? I mean, I am the murder victim.'

'Ok. Question one: why are you such an asshole?' _It's not worth it, Lance._ He heard himself say inside his head. _You can insult him later._ 'And question two: do you know anyone who would want to hurt you? Besides me, of course.'

'I kept to myself, mostly.' Said Keith just a second before his face dropped. 'But uh... I was in a few fights. Not too many. Oh, and I did slash someone's tires.'

'Humm... Well, some guys are crazy about their cars. That could tick him off.' Lance reached for a piece of paper and a pen. 'What was the guy's name?'

'Let's just say I didn't have time to ask him.'

'Seriously? Do you just go around slashing people's tires? Is that how you make friends?'

'He had it coming!' Keith scoffed, throwing his arms up in frustration. 'I was just passing by the park and I saw him harassing some kids, so I told him to fuck off and when he left I followed him all the way to Drule on my motorcycle and slashed his tires.'

Lance groaned, putting his face in his hands. If every question he asked received a similar answer, then their list of suspects would soon grow bigger than a CVS receipt. And he was starting to grow the suspicion that Keith would fight any guy who he caught littering, which just isn't good for someone's health.

'And what happened after that?' Asked Lance. 'Did he see you leave?'

There was a long pause from Keith. A suspiciously long pause.

'No.' He said. 'After that I went home.'

'Uh-uh. And when did that happen?'

'About two months before I died. So if he wanted to do something about it, he wouldn't have waited so long.'

Sighing, Lance wrote down "Tires Dude" on a piece of paper and put it on the corkboard. As he pushed the pin in, he sneaked a glance towards Keith. Somehow, he seemed anxious, like Lance was dangling his fingers only inches away from a sore wound.

'Are you hiding anything from me?' He asked, turning around. 'Because I don't give a shit about your personal life, but if you want my help you have to tell me everything.'

They stared each other down, trapped in a battle of wills. Lance usually lost those when they were against his siblings, but something about Keith just made him angry and stubborn. The only reason that he hadn't given up before even starting was because he knew Keith would never leave him alone after that.

'It's... none of your business.' Keith cleared his throat and looked away. 'Besides, I took care of it.'

'Took care of it, you say.' Scoffed Lance, rolling his eyes. 'You must have taken care of it _very well_.'

'What the hell is that supposed to mean?'

'Whatever the hell you want it to mean.' Lance stuck his tongue out, delighting himself as Keith simply rolled his eyes. 'But seriously, don't you think that maybe the guy followed you home?'

'I already told you, I know that didn't happen!' Screamed Keith. 'Why did you even insist on putting that on the murder board?!'

'Hold on, it's a murder board now?' Lance threw his hands up to his head. 'I'm talking to a ghost and assembling a murder board. That's it. I've gone mad.'

'It's useful.'

'No it's not! It's a corkboard with a map and a post-it that says "Tires Dude"!' Lance looked at the blank surface of the corkboard and groaned. He wondered how the guys in movies and TV shows always had their murder boards so perfectly arranged. And now he was calling it a murder board too. Great. 'Tell me something. Anything. Like, what is the last thing you remember before you died?'

Keith cocked his head to one side, letting some of his hair slide across his forehead. Although Lance would never admit it, he was a little jealous of that hair. If Keith had taken better care of it while he was alive, it would have been beautiful. Why was good hair given to bad people? It annoyed him to no end.

'It's all kind of fumbled in my mind.' He said. 'Uh... I remember arguing with my dad, I guess. I just can't remember what if was all about. I know that I must have gone to the party, because I remember hearing music.' He trailed off, words coming out slower and slower. 'Water. I'm not sure, but I guess I remember a lot of water.'

'Can you remember what time it was when you left home?'

'The sun was setting.' Answered Keith after a long pause. 'And it was June, so it must have been around 8 or 8:30 pm. And when I left the party... It was really dark out. Maybe midnight?'

Lance scribbled a quick timeline with the events Keith had described, with the slashing of the tires at the beginning and the events of the night of his death at the end. As he stared at the paper, he took the pen to his lips and bit the tip. 

He had done some research on the Kogane murders, seeing old articles online, and while some newspapers had presented outlandish theories, the one thing that most sensible newspapers agreed was that Keith had walked in on murder scene while the culprits were still in the house and had been shot while trying to escape. Pity that he didn't seem to remember anything from after the party.

Slowly, Lance removed the pen from his mouth and lifted his eyes to look at Keith.

'Hey.' He called. 'You mentioned that you had a motorcycle, right?'

'Yeah. I think it's in the garage, covered by a sheet.' He rolled his eyes. 'And no, you can't have it.'

'Like I would want a death machine like that!' Lance shivered, just imagining how using a helmet every time he had to get somewhere would mess up his hair. 'Just... come over here to the window for a second, ok?'

They approached the skylight and looked at the front yard and street. The sun was setting lazily over Altea, coloring it with delicate tones of orange. Lance waved to Luis, who was cutting the grass, but his eyes remained elsewhere.

'Is this what you wanted to show me?' Asked Keith. 'Your brother cutting the grass? I marvel at your detective skills.'

'On which side of the front yard did they find your body?'

'Uh... left one.' Keith pondered for a second. 'But the garage is on the right side of the house. If I was trying to run away, then-'

'Exactly, why would you cross the yard?!' Lance erupted in a cheer. 

'Don't interrupt me.' Groaned Keith, before turning his eyes back to the front yard. 'But I guess you're finally getting into something here. Did you ever notice that the door that connects the main house and the garage faces the living room in which my dad was killed?'

'Yeah! And the stair kind of hides it!'

'So if I came inside the house from the garage...'

'...You might be able to see the intruders without them seeing you!' Lance stopped in his tracks when he realized he was finishing Keith's sentences. He would rather die than admit that he was in tune with Keith Kogane of all people. 'But wait. Why wouldn't you just turn around and run away?'

Keith's eyes seemed to zoom out for a second as he slowly turned his back towards the window, focusing instead on the bed.

'Can I ask you to do something?' He asked. 'Can you check something under the bed?

'Why?' Asked Lance. Without meaning to, he had already gotten on his knees and was lifting up the sheet. It was a new low, taking orders from Keith. 'Did you have something here that was worth coming back for?'

He shut up as his fingers touched a small hole underneath the bed. Someone had removed a piece of the floorboard, revealing an empty space that could easily be used as a hiding place. He fumbled around, but he only felt a square object.

'Do you feel anything sharp?' Keith was standing uncomfortably close to him, so close that Lance could feel the coldness that emanated from his body. He controlled himself not to shiver. 'Like a blade or something?'

Lance turned around, mouth open in shock.

'You keep a knife in here?!' Pulling his hand from under the bed, he crossed his arms. 'We have children in this house!'

'It's not like they're going to go and crawl under the bed!' Complained Keith. 'Besides, it's not even there anymore. And I didn't have children in the house when I put it there in the first place!'

'Unbelievable. You're unbelievable, Kogane.' Lance got back up and cleaned his dusty palms on his jeans. 'And why in hell would you come back for a knife? What, were you planning on fighting off armed robbers with a _knife_?'

'Lance. Come on.' Keith sighed, raising an eyebrow, and Lance understood that he was totally the kind of person to do that. 'But if the knife's not here... well, I don't know what that means. But it's not good.'

'It's probably with the rest of the evidence for the case.' Said Lance, shrugging. 'And no matter how nice you ask, I'm not going to the police station to steal a stupid knife.'

'Please, you couldn't steal candy from a child.' Snickered Keith. 'I'm done with you.'

'Yeah, well, you couldn't -' Before he could finish talking, Keith was gone. Every time he did that Lance hated him a little more. He punched his fist in the air. 'God damn you, Kogane!'

If he knew where Keith had gone off so he would have marched after him and explain that stealing candy from a child was way harder than it actually looked like, and he, who had once tried to take one of Julia's lollipops without asking first and still kept the scar on his fingers from the bite, could testify for that. But he had never seen Keith sulk anywhere else besides his room, so he could be anywhere. 

His eyes slid to the bed and he got on his knees again. Keith had barely given him any time to see what was under there, but now that he was gone he was free to do whatever he wanted.

The square object he had found turned out to be a wooden box where Keith had collected a bunch of useless junk. There were a cigarette pack and a lighter, some shiny rocks that Keith had probably thought were cool, and a long piece of string. Lance pulled it, only to realize that there was something hanging from it: an old rusty key. He stared at it, confused. It seemed too big and chunky for any locks in his home, like it had been made for an even older house.

Avoiding straight answers and keeping secrets. Lance turned the key in his hand, feeling the rough and cold metal.

'What are you hiding from me, Kogane?' He whispered, staring at the place where not even a few seconds before the other boy had stood.

* * *

The students had already long left the classroom, the clatter of their feet echoing down the hallway. She was alone, hands on her lap, staring at the diary. It almost seemed to stare back.

She had expected to be all over it as soon as she got home from the coffee shop, but instead, she found that she could barely hold it without feeling light-headed. All her life, she had seen her father as the perfect adult. In a world where everyone over the age of 30 was not to be trusted, he was an exception. He actually understood and cared about her problems. If she talked, he listened.

She knew that not all fathers were as good as he was. Some were openly awful, while others tried to hide it. But her father had no secrets. He was the one person that Allura knew with absolute certainty to be kind and honest.

The book in front of her could either make or break that belief.

There was a knock on the door, and she rushed to hide the book before she saw it was Coran.

'Princess, you would not believe the day I've had.' He said, using the nickname he had given her as a child. As a teenager, she had hated being called princess. Now she felt a pang of warmth whenever he called her that. 'Can you believe our History teacher asked for an indefinite leave out of the blue? The only substitute I could find is some kid from Drule who never taught a class in his life.'

'Coran.' She called, realizing that he was about to go on a rant. Slowly, she raised the book so he could see it. 'I found it. His diary.'

'How is that possible?' Asked Coran, taking a seat in front of her desk. 'We looked for it for months after his death.'

'Let's just say somebody found it for me.' Said Allura, not really wanting to admit that she had turned a blind eye to a student breaking and entering into the principal's office. Although Iverson did deserve it.

'May I?' He asked. She nodded, handing him the diary. For the first time in six years, the diary was opened. The pages had turned to a slightly yellow color around the edges, and a strong smell of dust still clung to it. But when Coran opened it, there was no doubt. 'This is your father's handwriting, yes.'

Allura walked around the desk and looked over his shoulder as he flipped through the pages. The diary started on January 1st, but almost half of the book was empty. Her father's last entry had been on June 15th. A day before Keith's death.

Her eyes slid through her father's neat handwriting.

**Tomorrow is the last day of school, and I still haven't solved the problem. I've tried talking to Sheriff Garrett, but he says that it's a matter too complicated for Altea's police department, that the police in Drule are already taking care of it.**

**I don't know what to do, but at least Allura is safe. She doesn't know anything about what's been actually happening, about the monster that has infiltrated our town. And if I can help it, she'll never find out.**

**The way the people in this town treat the ones that live in Balmera is appaling. Everyone is so willing to ignore how their community is being destroyed, it honestly disgusts me. Some of the teachers here at Garrison are even pushing to stop accepting students from Balmera, saying that they only bring violence and crime. They have no idea what's the actual source of everything bad in this town.**

**I'm planning on going to Drule to talk to the police and see if they can do anything about this. I saw Kogane earlier today, and he said he wanted to do something about it too. I have no idea of how he found out, but all the help is welcome. He has a son that goes to school to Allura, so I understand that he would like to protect him.**

**Hopefully, no more harm will come to Altea.**

The writing stopped there, and from then on there was nothing. She remembered the fuss of the weeks after the crime the press had nicknamed The Kogane Murders. Not only they had the police constantly calling them, trying to see if they remembered anything new, they also had journalists camped outside their house, taking turns either trying to take a sneaky picture of the crime scene or trying to get them to answer questions. They had spent most of those days together, drinking tea while watching the news vans rushing on the street, and she hadn't seen him with his diary. Not even once.

Then, just as things were starting to calm down and she was making plans to go off to college, he said he had to go to Drule for a day. When night fell and she started to grow worried, a police officer showed up on the front step with the bad news.

'What is this problem he talks about?' She asked. 'Did he say anything to you?'

'I almost forgot about it, but around that time a student was caught with drugs on school grounds.' Coran twirled his mustache between his fingers, lost in thought. 'This goes along the lines of what I remember. The student they caught was from Balmera, so a lot of teachers said that they should be denied entrance into Garrison.'

Allura remembered that Balmera was the nickname the people of Altea had given the poorest part of town. A lot of kids from Balmera studied at Garrison High, which was located in the most well-off part of town, and it was easy to identify which students belonged to which category. A lot of teachers mistrusted the poorer students, and over the years there had been calls from the PTA to expel them.

'Still, I can't remember hearing about a kid caught with drugs on campus.' She thought out loud.

'We were asked to keep silent about the whole thing. Your father knew a lot of parents would panic.' Coran sighed. 'He asked Sheriff Garrett to open an investigation, but quietly. But I think that he might have gone out and investigated for himself. Find out who was getting the drugs into Altea.'

'Why would he do that?'

'You always thought of your father as the most serene man on earth, but he could be impulsive sometimes.' Coran ran his fingers through the pages, feeling the rough paper. 'And it was his school that was being threatened. He took his role as principal very seriously.'

A kid carrying drugs on campus. Allura bit the nail on her thumb nervously. 

She hadn't been so innocent as her father thought. Although she only found out when it was too late to do anything about it. She could recall the tall man dressed in all black making his way through a crowd of teenagers at the end of the year party, the way he moved like night itself. Some ignored him, some followed him with the eyes expectantly. She remembered seeing him pass out the small bags of powder from across the room, the way Shiro had tensed up next to her when he had noticed what was going on.

That had been the night of Keith's death, the night of the promise. But apparently, the problem, as her father called it, had been much bigger than initially thought.

'When was this kid caught?' She asked.

'Around May, I think.' Answered Coran. 'Ends of May, if I'm not mistaken.'

May. A month before her world had come crashing down.

It was starting to get late. As Coran and Allura made their way down the school's hallway, her mind lingered on the last part of her father's entry. He had talked to Mr. Kogane a day before his death, and he said he wanted to help him in his fight to rid Altea of drug dealers.

_He never told me about that._ She thought, still staring at the diary pressed against her chest. When the police had questioned him, he had said that Mr. Kogane barely left the house, working from his home office; and that he sometimes went weeks without seeing him. He said he couldn't even recall the last time he had spoken to the man.

Maybe she wasn't the only one lying to the police. 

What kind of secrets had he hidden away from her? What was it that was so bad that he couldn't even come to her, his daughter, whom he trusted with his life?

Her fingers itched to open the diary once again, flip through its pages until she had drained it out of secrets. Ravage every inch until she could feel her father next to her; until he was as good and true in her eyes as when he was alive. 

'By the way, I wanted to ask you something.' Coran's voice took her out of her daydreams. 'I know that you're a science teacher and this is not really your area, but would you mind helping me with the school play? It's usually just me, but I'd like to have someone to help me judge the auditions.'

'Sure.' She said absentmindedly. Coran had been the one to coordinate the school plays for decades now, even before she had come to Garrison High. 'Is it Shakespeare again?'

'Oh, you know me, princess.' Coran smiled, making the tips of his mustache rise above his nose. 'Sure, we do some Tennessee Williams now and then, but it always comes back to Shakespeare. Still, we haven't had a performance as good as yours. Garrison High has never seen a better Juliet.'

'You flatter me.' She said, chuckling. On her senior year, she had been cast as a lead role in their production of Romeo and Juliet, and Shiro had ended up playing Romeo. It had been around that time that rumors had started flying around the school that they were an item. They generally found it funny, even mockingly declaring their lines at each other and pretending to swoon. Keith had thought it was stupid. They had forced him to audition and he was stuck in the role of Mercutio, which he hated. 'What play are you doing this year?'

'Much Ado About Nothing.' Coran shrugged. 'I haven't felt comfortable with tragedies since... you know.'

Oh, she knew. She could remember the opening night, standing backstage as she watched the boy playing Tybalt stab Keith in the place where they had tied the fake blood bags. She remembered feeling a weird shiver as she saw the red stain spread over his clothes, even though she knew the blood was fake. Even though she knew it was a fake sword. Even though she knew they had trained that scene over and over again until Keith stopped calling his character an idiot and the whole play a "sappy melodrama for hormonal teenagers".

'What, you don't believe in star-crossed lovers?' Had been Shiro's question as he hid an amused smile behind his hand.

Keith had rolled his eyes, but his face had remained serious.

'I don't believe in star-crossed anything.'

Coran opened the door and the cold wind hit her in the face. But before she could step out into the early October chill, she felt herself collide with someone, a tall man from what she could see. As she fell back, everything she was holding went up in the air, mixed with the papers the stranger was holding. She dropped to her knees and reached for her things, her hands slightly brushing the man's own. She raised her eyes to look at him for a bit and saw a handsome face made almost entirely out of sharp angles, a curtain of long white hair letting a few strands in front of his eyes. It was almost the perfect meet-cute.

Almost.

'Watch where you're going!' Said the man, hurriedly catching his things and getting up. She did the same, sending him an angry look.

'I could tell you to do the same.' She growled. 'What are you even doing here? The school is closed and you are not a student or part of the staff.'

The man rose an eyebrow and a mocking smile crossed his face.

'Actually, I am.' She stared at him, not wanting to believe that she would have to work with someone who looked like the dictionary definition of a fuckboy. 'My name is Lotor Galra, I'm here as a substitute for your History teacher. I believe you have been warned that I would be dropping by.'

The introduction did not come with a handshake, and neither Coran nor Allura offered one.

'Do you know why she asked for such an abrupt leave?' Asked Coran, eyeing the newcomer with distrust. 

'No idea.' He said, a little too fast. 'Now if you'll excuse me, I'll go see if the principal is still in the school. I would like to talk to him before starting to teach my classes.'

Just like that, he walked away from them, adjusting his papers under his arm. Allura looked at Coran, rolled her eyes and pretended to vomit.

'God, what a stuck up prick.' She groaned. They zipped their jackets up as they crossed the parking lot, their feet crunching the dry leaves. Altea was truly beautiful during October. 

Allura nodded at Coran as he opened her car's door and sat down, putting her things in the passenger seat.

As she drove, she counted all the people in her senior class, at least the ones she could remember. She knew some of them had stayed in Altea, others had left and made it obvious in every Facebook post that they were very happy with their decision. And one of those people had been caught carrying drugs. Maybe her father's diary had more info on the student. If Allura found him, maybe he would know something...

She pulled into her driveway and looked back to the house across the street. The past month had seen a lot of small improvements to the house. Just with a neat lawn, a tire swing and a coat of paint on the front porch it looked like a completely different house. Sometimes she went for a walk at night, and she would pass by the house during dinner time. That was when the clatter of voices came to her, and she slowed down.

There was something strange about the McClains. This weird mixture of happiness and sadness where one couldn't go without the other. She had seen it on Mrs. McClain's face during that dinner on their first day in Altea, something that looked like teary eyes fighting a hard battle with a happy smile. She saw it on the youngest brother when he was done with his work in class, the way he looked at the window like he wanted to be anywhere but there. She saw it on Lance's eyes almost every day, something so quick that if you blinked it was gone.

She had noticed that their father wasn't there, but she hadn't asked. Perhaps it had something to do with that.

Her eyes fell on her things, lying peacefully on the passenger seat, and she felt it again. That itch that told her to read the diary, the thing she had been putting off for too long. Now it came to her in an avalanche.

She lifted some papers, and then some more. And some more. She opened her briefcase. She let the papers splatter over her lap and feet and let out a sound that was something between a gasp and a scream.

The diary was gone.

* * *

If someone from Altea wanted to seek treatment, they had to go all the way to Drule, where the only hospital in the zone had been built. It was a big square building, the walls painted in a lovely shade of light green that was supposed to calm down the patients and their relatives. But as she made her way across the hallways, she felt anything but calm. The smell of antibacterial soap seemed to burn her nose like acid.

For the first weeks, she had brought flowers, balloons, and chocolates because she thought that he would soon wake up and they could share them then. But the chocolates had gone bad, the balloons had slowly lost their air and the flowers wilted. So instead of bringing him gifts, she talked.

She felt silly, but Mom said that it actually helped a lot. She had guaranteed that comatose people were able to hear what they were told.

As she stared at the door, she wondered if she should knock. It was his room, after all. A room that he hadn't left since winter. Biting her lip, she opened the door and stepped into the hospital room. 

'Hey, Matt.' She said weakly, slipping into a chair. 'Uh... how you doing?'

There was no answer. Her brother was still in the same position, eyes closed, hands folded over his stomach. Pidge sighed and rested her elbows on the edge of the bed, feeling the mattress give in. If someone told her only a year before that she would one day be thankful to hear her brother talk again, she would have laughed and shown them a recording she had on her phone of Matt going on a 20 minute long conspiracy theory rant on how Jar Jar Binks was actually the great evil mastermind behind all the Star Wars movies. She would have guaranteed that nothing would be better than absolute silence from Matt.

Now she played that recording sometimes, just to make sure she didn't forget his voice. 

The doctors said it had been a miracle that he had been able to get rushed to the hospital fast enough for the bullet to be retrieved from his lung. Her father had died on the way there, but Matt had pulled through. 

The police had said it had been a miracle that she had survived too, even if she wasn't shot. But really, it had been nothing but a coincidence.

They were just supposed to be getting snacks.

Mom had been stuck on the night shift at the hospital all week, and it had been Matt's idea to surprise her. So they had driven out to a store only a few minutes away from the hospital and stuffed a shopping cart with chips and chocolates. Matt and Pidge were so busy throwing things at each other that they had barely noticed how tense their father was. He had been kind of off lately, something to do with his job. But Mom had a strict "no-talking-about-dead-bodies-at-the-dinner-table" rule, so she hadn't quite realized what it was yet. All she knew was that one day Dad had come home and asked Matt if he remembered his old principal back at Garrison High.

'Principal Altea?' He had asked. 'Yeah, I guess so. He was cool. Much cooler than Iverson, at least. Didn't he die of a heart attack or something?'

Her father hadn't answered. Since that day that he'd been acting weird. Distant. Nervous.

They were loading the groceries into the car when Matt told her to go get some candy they had forgotten back inside. She had groaned at first, but in the end, she went back into the store to get the damn candy. She was halfway through turning around when she heard it.

A gunshot, loud and clear. Followed by another one.

As the store clerk dropped to the ground, she rushed outside just in time to see the black car driving away, still rolling the window up. 

If she closed her eyes she could still see the license plate, burned into her retinas. She could still see the red and blue lights of sirens.

After that, it had been all downhill. She had cut her hair, she had started wearing Matt's old glasses and spending too much time at her Dad's job, bribing the security guard to look the other way as she went through her father's old files. His comment about Alfor Altea, Garrison's former principal, couldn't get off her head. So she spent endless nights hunched over his files, trying to find his. Trying to find what had made her father so scared.

Trying to figure out what kind of secret was worth killing for after 6 years.

'Matt?' She asked, even though she knew there would be no answer. 'Do you remember when they offered you that job far away from Altea last year and you turned it down?' She rested her chin against her knuckles, watching her brother. His hair was getting too long. 'You said that you didn't really think about leaving Altea because it was the best place in the world.'

The best place in the world. Where children could play on the road without being afraid of being hit by cars. Where they held a lovely flower festival at the beginning of every spring, with Hunk and his mom participating in the pie making contest and taking the 1st prize every year. 

Where the bad things that happened didn't happen if you tried to ignore them hard enough.

'I feel like I'm pulling a sweater apart by pulling on a thread.' She said, making circles on Matt's hands. 'But the more I pull, the more threads I see.'

There was only one thing she knew for sure. Everything went back to that night 6 years before, to that night that remained a mystery to everyone. She had read the police files, she had asked around, she had actually gone into the house. And when she looked at everything, she knew only one thing.

Somebody was lying. 

'Katie?' The door opened and she saw her mother step in, still wearing her white scrubs from work. 'What are you doing here?'

'Visiting my brother.' She said, before clicking her tongue. 'Why, I can't do that anymore?'

Her mother sighed as she stood behind her, placing both her hands on her shoulders. They watched Matt sleep as Pidge felt a bitter taste in her mouth. She knew she was being difficult. She had been difficult for most of the year, really. And there had been the whole thing with Sheriff Garrett only a few months before...

'Don't worry, honey.' Her mother made a gesture as if she was going to pet her hair, forgetting that she had cut it short. 'He'll be awake soon. Then everything will be ok. I promise'

_Yes._ She thought, holding one of her mother's hands in her own and gripping it tightly. _And then they will learn not to mess with my family again. That  is one promise that I'm willing to keep._


	7. Starring Role

_'This is dumb.'_

_'No it's not.'_

_'Yes, it is, Shiro.' Keith flipped the pages of the script in front of his best friend's face, making a small breeze move some of his hair away from his forehead. 'Look at this. It's so... sappy. And gross.'_

_'You say that about anything that is just even a little cheerful.' He stopped for a second before letting a few chuckles escape his lips. 'I still can't believe Mr. Coran cast you as Mercutio.'_

_'That makes two of us.' Grumbled Keith, pushing the script into his backpack and swinging a leg over his motorcycle. When Mr. Coran had told him the sarcasm in his voice gave the whole play a ring of comedy, he had wanted to say that the sarcasm came from hating every single word he was reading, but a pointed look from Shiro had made him keep his mouth shut. 'Do you want a ride?'_

_Shiro shrugged, awkwardly sitting behind him and wrapping his arms around Keith's waist. Although they had grown up together, Shiro had started to actually grow around freshman year, while Keith had turned out to be above average when it came to height. He missed the times in elementary school where he could actually wrestle his best friend without fearing he would be accidentally crushed by him. Compared to Keith's lean figure, Shiro looked even taller and stronger, which made him look and feel a little stupid when he clung to Keith, his muscles basically squeezing him like a tube of toothpaste._

_The first day Keith Kogane had sped across the streets of Altea on his motorcycle, everyone had left out a collective sigh. And now, as he made a tight curve that made Shiro cling to the fabric of his shirt, the town sighed, but lower. Resigned._

_For the first time in his high school career, Keith had actually signed up for something. And he didn't know how to feel about it. And just like every time he had troubling thoughts, he sped up, hoping to leave his problems behind._

_He had never considered himself a part of Garrison High, or of Altea, for that matter. So he had tried his best to avoid any implication that he actually gave a damn about what happened, always making an active effort to ignore the millions of activities Altea held to uplift its status as a cheerful town of cheerful people. He never showed up for the Spring Festival or the Winter Ball, not even for pep rallies at school._

_That was, of course, until he had started hanging out with Shiro's friends, Matt and Allura, which was a recent development that Keith didn't know how to feel about. And while he liked them enough, he liked them a lot less now that they had basically set him up by sending a text saying they were in the auditory with pie when they were actually with Mr. Coran and the script of a play he hated. And somehow, he had ended up with the worst possible character for his personality._

_But the worst part was far from being the shitty character. The worst part would be telling his father that for a few months he would be arriving home after the sun, when the only rule on the Kogane household was that Keith was supposed to be there before it was dark out. A rule that Keith had been defying since he was 14 and learned that climbing a pipe that ran up the back wall of his house and passed right next to an empty room's window was the easiest way to sneak out. Sneaking back in was simply a matter of being silent, since his father slept like a rock. A very protective rock._

_Growing up, Keith had never thought that maybe other kid's parents didn't put their children in self-defense classes when they were in first grade or taught them to stab strangers with their keys if they tried to hurt you. He knew that parents were afraid that their children would be mugged or kidnapped, but it actually took him a long time to figure out that his father was beyond worried. He was paranoid._

_Keith wondered sometimes why his father was so worried about him. The more he grew, the more his father feared. And perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he had once picked a fight with a man double his size over cutting in line, but maybe there were other options. Maybe he had had a near-death as a baby, maybe someone had tried to kidnap him once._

_Maybe his mother had come for him once, demanding to take away the baby she had left in the first place._

_'Are you alright?' Asked Shiro as they stepped down the motorcycle in front of his house. His mother glanced from a peek in the curtains and smiled at them. Keith gave her a shy nod. He had known Shiro's mother for most of his life, she called him "sugar" and "dear", but he didn't really feel comfortable around her. She was so... motherly. She fussed over Shiro when he didn't wear a jacket, she warned them to be careful when they rode the motorcycle, she even walked in when they were studying to give them lemonade and cookies._

_'I'm fine.' He said, slowly breaking eye contact with the woman at the window. 'Uh... I should go.'_

_'Hold on, you think my parents are going to let my best friend who just drove me home leave without forcing half our food down your throat?' Shiro laughed, putting an arm around his shoulders. If it had been anyone else, Keith would have pushed him off. But it was Shiro, so he simply let himself be taken inside. 'Come on in.'_

_Inside, the house was warm and full of light. Shiro's father was setting the table while chatting in Japanese with his wife, and he smiled at them as they set their things by the door.'_

_'Hey, boys. How did the auditions go?'_

_'Pretty good.' Shiro went into the kitchen's cupboard and took an extra plate for Keith. 'I got the part of Romeo. And Keith over there is going to be Mercutio.'_

_'Really?' Father and son traded an entertained look. 'I always pinned you as the one for angsty roles, Keith. Not for the comic relief.'_

_'The comic relief of Shiro's life is watching me fail.' He said, earning a laugh._

_Shiro's mother came from inside the kitchen, a hot tray between her oven mitts. They sat down, talking about school and the play, and Keith slowly found himself falling into a good time. Even as his phone started to ring in his pocket, signaling his father was growing worried about him being late, he simply ignored him._

_What was the worst thing that could happen to him, anyway?_

* * *

Her father's diary was gone, and there could only be one culprit.

Normally, she would hate to accuse a co-worker of stealing. Especially when it was only the co-worker's first day. But since that co-worker was Lotor, the first thing that pops on Google Images when you search "bleached asshole", she was ready to make an exception just for him.

The problem was that she couldn't find him. When she went to his classroom looking for him, his students, who were still packing up, told her he had left as soon as the bell had rung. He wasn't in the teacher's lounge either, or in the hallways. When lunch came around, she started wondering whether Lotor Galra actually taught at that school or just showed up randomly to steal things and annoy people. 

As she made her way towards the auditorium, she instantly regretted agreeing to help Coran with the play. She knew how much it meant to him, but the thought of sitting down hearing students trying to pronounce words in old English while that bastard was running around with her father's diary, doing God knows what with it, was enough to make her boil with anger. 

'Morning, Coran.' She said, opening the door. The auditorium was a big amphitheater with a broad stage adorned with blue curtains and wood walls decorated with framed pictures of the school's past plays. Coran was sitting on one of the first rows. As he turned around, she could see that his face was somewhere between the annoyed and the resigned. 'Will Shiro be joining us?'

'Shiro couldn't make it.' Said Coran, with a deep sigh. 'And the only replacement I could find this late was...'

'I think everything's set here.' She heard his footsteps on the stage's wood before she saw him. When he appeared, she felt her teeth grit against each other. 'Why are you two staring at me?'

'You!' Allura made her way across the auditorium, her heels clicking furiously against the steps that let to the stage. When she reached Lotor, she stuck a finger in the middle of his chest. ' _You_ stole it!'

'I have no idea what you're talking about.' He said, dodging her. She continued to trail around him.

'Yesterday you bumped into me, you made my things fall and you stole the book I was holding!' Lotor tried to walk away, but Allura chased him until they were walking in circles on the stage. 'Come over here and give it back!'

'What makes you think that I stole it?' Asked Lotor, crossing his arms crossed his chest. 'Maybe you lost it!'

'No, I didn't! You stole it!'

'Guys?' They turned to look at Coran at the same time and saw the figures of some students standing by the door, watching the whole scene unfold. Allura straightened her skirt and gave Lotor a "just you wait" look before smiling and welcoming the students inside. She moved away from the stage, choosing to take a look at the photographs that lined the walls instead, hoping it would calm her down.

Most of the faces were unfamiliar, but it wasn't long before she found her father's eyes staring back at her.

It was an old black and white picture of a group of teenagers in renaissance clothing, smiling at the camera. Her father was in the middle, next to a couple hugging. The writing on the corner told her the picture had been taken for the school's production of Julius Caesar, proof that Garrison High's obsession with performing Shakespeare came from even before Coran taught there. She could remember her father mentioning he had played Julius in high school, and if she was right, then the tall boy next to him was probably Brutus.

A feeling of nausea washed over her as she stepped away. Quickly, she stepped away and continued her walk, but she was soon to find even worse memories.

This picture wasn't new, but it was colored. It was the picture that they had taken just before the opening night of Romeo and Juliet. She had that long white and blue dress that they had spent so much time designing and sewing, and she was standing next to Shiro, who was dragging Keith closer to them. There was Matt Holt, who had played Benvolio, his head sticking out from behind them. And the boy who had played Tybalt, whose name she could never remember but whose face now caused her to feel like she had forgotten something important.

Opening night. Middle of February, just a few weeks before the Garrison High's annual Winter Ball. The play had been a success, and even Shiro was too happy to deny when someone sneaked in a bottle of vodka to the cast party. Mr. Coran made them the favor of pretending their solo cups were filled with water. She remembered feeling tipsy as she clung to Matt's shoulder and looked at Keith and Shiro, sitting in a corner together. She remembered thinking that there was a fire in that room that would never burn out, a heath that came simply from being among her friends.

A year later, sitting in her dorm room in London, she felt like the only thing left of that fire were some embers that let out a different kind of heat. That heat was a desire for revenge.

Her eyes went through Tybalt again, and she cursed for not being able to remember his name. He had a square face, and she remembered he was very strong, always being the one to help Shiro lift the heaviest props. If she wasn't wrong, then he had been the one to help their shop teacher build the balcony for her scene with Shiro.

And he was from Balmera. She remembered now how some students had given him weird looks during the first weeks, looking down on his hand-me-down clothes and old shoes. No matter how much Mr. Coran chastised them, they simply couldn't hide that they thought he didn't belong there. 

She turned around, not wanting another wave of memories, and she found Lotor sitting in the first row, watching her. She stared back, making direct eye contact with him until he looked away. In the terrible week she was having, that felt like a small victory. When she sat down, she made sure Coran was between them, so she wouldn't have to look at him.

* * *

When Lance had told Shiro he had done a few plays for his former school, he wasn't talking about high school. Actually, he was talking about an elementary school production of Snow White where he had played one of the dwarves and had accidentally pushed Snow White off the stage because she was stealing his spotlight. But he liked to think that if his teacher had heard his suggestion to cast him in the main role, none of that would have happened.

Thanks to a recap from Hunk, the only person who remembered the play, and a quick look through CliffNotes, he now felt confident enough that he was finally going to have his spotlight.

That was at least until Keith saw him reading the script before going to school.

He was a little surprised to see him so early in the morning. Keith usually only showed up either late in the afternoon or during the night. But that morning he looked up from the lines that he was planning on saying for his audition when he saw him, giving him a smug look.

'Are you actually going to audition for the school play?' He asked, scoffing. 'Oh, of course you are. What else would an attention seeking drama queen like you do?'

'Can it, mullet.' He groaned, sticking his tongue out. 'You're just jealous because you're staring at the best Benedick that Garrison High will ever see.'

'What a fitting name for you.' Keith stifled a laugh before his face turned stern. 'But shouldn't you be doing something useful with your time. Like... Oh, I don't know, solving my gruesome murder so I can finally leave this world and not stare at your face every day?'

'And I'm the attention seeking drama queen.' Lance rolled his eyes and looked at the script again. 'The world doesn't revolve around you, Kogane. Go find a hobby and leave me alone.'

'Well, I could always go back to my hobby of tormenting you until you leave this house and never come back.' 

'Ah, sorry. I forgot your schedule is completely booked with being an emo piece of shit.' Lance hid his grin behind the pages of the script. 'My bad.'

'I hope you fall off the stage and break a leg.'

'Yeah, well, I hope you...' When Lance looked up, Keith was gone. Somehow, he was glad. He wasn't really sure of what was the ghost equivalent of breaking a leg. He needed to get better comebacks.

When the time for the auditions came, he met with Hunk and Pidge in front of his locker. After a bit of convincing, Hunk had been brave enough to set aside his usual fear of being the center of attention. And after a bit of bribing, Pidge had finally agreed to go and audition for a small role that would allow her plenty of time to sit back and make fun at Lance and Hunk. He couldn't help but feel like he had played himself.f

'Lance, I really have to thank you.' Said Pidge as soon as she saw him, a victorious grin on her face. 'Bless the day you convinced me to audition for this garbage play.'

'You're awfully cheerful.' His eyes turned to Hunk, who had turned a sickly pale color. 'And you're awfully not. What's going on?'

'Shay's auditioning too.' He said. 'Why did I ever agree to do this? I'm going to make a fool of myself and Shay is going to hate me forever!'

'Relax, Hunk.' Pidge laughed, leaning against the lockers. She had a sly smile that always preceded her jokes about Hunk's crush. 'Besides, you might be the lucky victim of this years play.'

'How in hell would he be a victim?' Asked Lance, confused.

'You see, there's this old superstition around school that two cast members shall always fall for each other during Garrison's school plays and declare their love.' Explained Pidge. 'Apparently, lead roles have been falling for each other for decades now. I think a couple even went ahead and got married after high school.'

Lance and Pidge traded a look, and they immediately knew what the other one was thinking. Slowly, Lance started to sing.

'Hunk and Shay, sitting in a tree...'

'Lance, get away from me.'

'Hey, that works too!'

Hunk sighed and pushed open the auditorium doors, letting them in. A few seats were already taken by other students who were chatting or practicing their lines. They saw Shay reading her script on a row near the stage, but all the seats around her were taken. They sat down near a wall, a place where they could see the teachers that would be judging their auditions. Lance saw Allura and Coran, but there was a teacher with long white hair that he had never seen before sitting next to them.

'Ugh, that guy.' Groaned Pidge, rolling her eyes. 'He's the worst History teacher I have ever had.'

'Yeah, I heard he's pretty bad.' Faced with Lance's look of confusion, he explained. 'Our History teacher asked for a leave, so he's going to be at Garrison for God knows how long.'

'A leave?' Asked Lance. 'Is it something bad?'

'I don't know, but she left town completely.' Hunk shrugged, already pulling his script out of his backpack. 'My mom's friends with one of her neighbors, and they say she simply left her house. They think she might be with family in another state.'

There was some noise as Mr. Coran got up and climbed on stage, the spotlight making his orange hair shine. He made a signal for them to calm down.

'Welcome everybody, welcome. We will now begin the auditions for the role of Benedick. Anyone who wants to try for the part can line up on this side of the stage.'

As Lance stepped on stage, he stole a quick glance to his friends. Pidge had both her thumbs up, Hunk was mouthing "you can do it". He felt strangely calm.

The line progressed a lot quicker than he expected, but he didn't mind. He had trained at home with his siblings, and they had all agreed that he was pretty good for the role. 

The guy in front of him finished his audition to the sound of the judge's polite applause. As Lance stepped into the spotlight, he suddenly felt his stomach drop.

In front of him, there was nothing but darkness. He could see the outlines of the judge's bodies, the way they were waiting for him. He was the last one in line, so he was alone in the stage. Alone in a sea of shadows and vague noises. He could hear the voices of the people sitting in the audience, their whispers just high enough for him to listen but low enough for him to don't understand. Were they talking about him? Did he look panicked?

'Uh, hi.' He ran his fingers through his hair and felt a fine layer of sweat around his hairline. He gulped, feeling his dry throat close. 'I'm Lance McClain and I'll be trying for the role of Benedick.'

He took a deep breath and looked for the place where he knew Pidge and Hunk to be, but he saw nothing. The fear in his stomach grew and roared like a beast, and while he knew that the spotlight wasn't the sun, it sure felt as hot as it. His breath caught in his throat and he gripped the pages of the script tightly. As he opened his mouth, he felt it dry as sand.

The lines on the paper seemed to dance, but he had to read them. He could see the new History teacher, the one with the white hair, moving uncomfortably in his seat. Impatient. He felt like he had been standing there for years.

And then, a voice reached him. 

He took a while for him to understand that that voice didn't belong to anyone in the auditorium. It was a mocking, disdainful voice that he was very used to hearing every day when night came. It was the voice of a shadow full of light, of a boy that moved in a completely different world than he did. And while Lance knew that there was no way Keith could be there, he heard him laughing. Which was weird, since he was always in such a bad mood. The best he could get was a scoff.

But the sound that rang in his head... If Lance had to bet what Keith's laugh sounded like, he would have probably picked that. There was something about it that simply seemed right.

And it filled him with anger.

Because now he could see Keith laughing like that when he found out that Lance had completely blanked during his audition. He could just see him, floating above the ground or sitting by the skylight, those terribly distant eyes that just had a way to make Lance feel like he wasn't really there, like Lance wasn't really worthy of his time. 

Hell, he could almost see him in the audience, that subtle moonglow light of his the only thing he could see in the pitch darkness of the auditorium. The raised eyebrow, the stupid grin. Instinctively, Lance found his own face contorting in a similar way. He would show him. 

Just like that, his mouth opened and the words starting flowing out. They felt comfortable in his mouth, like they hadn't been writing centuries before he was born but actually made up on the spot. With a quick glance, he noticed Coran and Allura were perking up on their seats. With the sweetness of pride washing away the bitterness of his past panic, he slowly started to regain his composure. And soon, he was even beyond it.

When he stopped, he didn't hear Keith anymore. The sound of energetic applause was too loud for that.

He stepped down and joined Hunk and Pidge, who greeted him with thunderous applause. As he sat down, Pidge pretended to hand him some sort of award. He thanked her with a dramatic bow, holding the non-existent trophy like it was an Oscar.

_Take that, mullet._

Coran announced the auditions for Beatrice, then for Claudio, Hero, and the rest of the characters. Hunk did good, Pidge seemed uninterested but seemed to remember her lines well enough not to read the script, and Shay seemed nervous, but did very well nevertheless. 

When everything was done, Coran sent them off and told them to come back once the day was done, when they would have a list of the chosen actors. Lance grabbed his backpack and was ready to leave when Allura grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him aside. Pidge and Hunk waited near the door, watching as the other students flowed away. 

'Lance, you did great!' She said, and Lance tried not to be too offended at the surprise in her voice. 'Seriously, even Lotor said that you were, and I quote, "not that bad". Which is about the best you can get from him.'

'Thanks.' There was a pause, and Lance found himself biting his lip. 'Did I... You know...'

'Uh?' Allura blinked, realization dawning on her face. 'Well, I'm not allowed to spoil anything. Coran would kill me if I did. But he's a softie, anyway. So I guess we won't have to fight a lot to figure out who should be our Benedick.'

He smiled, and parted with Allura with a skip on his step. As Pidge and Hunk watched expectantly, he simply raised his hands for them to give him a high-five.

During the rest of the day, he felt like he was walking on clouds. Mr. Slav's Math class, usually the bane of his existence, went by without a single yawn, and when he had Science with Allura as the last class of the day, they traded a smirk. When the last bell rang, he rushed with Pidge to the auditorium, while Hunk and Shay stayed behind, chatting. They were pining so hard for each other that it was sickening.

There were already people crowding around the list, now that it was up. Hunk and Shay, being the tallest, made their way across the sea of people and came back with red cheeks.

'So?' Asked Lance, although he already knew that he was going to be Benedick. Hunk stared at his feet, hoping it would hide the blush on his cheeks. Shay was also looking away.

'We're going to play Claudio and Hero.' Mumbled Hunk. Pidge erupted in laughter, doubling over herself as she took in their embarrassment. Lance wondered whether that was a coincidence or those nerds' crush on each other was so obvious that even teachers were choosing to interfere now. 'It's not that funny. By the way, Pidge is going to be Ursula. And uh, Lance is going to be Benedick. Obviously.'

'Ha, sweet!' Lance puffed his chest out and glanced around the room to some girls he remembered auditioning for the role of Beatrice. 'And which one of these lovely ladies shall have the pleasure of playing my love interest?'

'I suppose that would be me.' The group turned around to see a girl with light blue hair and a heart-shaped face. She stepped up and offered Lance a hand. As she shook it, he noticed the lean build of her body, the fluid way she moved. With a knot in his stomach, he understood those were all things he had during his swimming days. If he had to bet, he would say this girl was on the swim team. 'I'm Plaxum. Nice to meet you.'

'Lance.' He said. She seemed to notice the tension he felt, so he made a smile. 'Tell me, excited to be my love interest? I have to warn you, it's pretty easy to fall in love with me.'

'Then we must be doing something wrong.' Said Pidge under her breath. Plaxum laughed, and Lance sent his friend a hurt look. 

Soon, everybody had seen the list and only the chosen students remained in the auditory, talking in groups. Allura and Coran approached them, but the long-haired teacher seemed to be nowhere near. Lance couldn't exactly say he was sad. 

'Lance, your audition was amazing.' Said Coran, once he had reached him. 'There was so much... oh, I don't know. Like you were born saying those quips to someone, you know?'

_Oh, yes. I have spent the last month or so having to snap back a lot._

'I have three siblings.' He explained with a shrug. 'Just something you learn along the way.'

'While I'm at it, let me just tell you that you were all amazing!' Coran raised his voice so everyone in the auditorium could hear them. 'I believe we have some great potential this year. Something I haven't seen since the days of Miss Altea over here.'

'I already told you, I wasn't that good.' Allura rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. Suddenly, Shay clicked her fingers.

'I remember you now!' She said, eyes lightening up. 'My brother told me about you!'

'Your brother?' Allura tilted her head and frowned. 'I believe I don't understand.'

'My brother Rax. You two were in the same grade, and he played Tybalt six years ago, when the school had that production of Romeo and Juliet.' A flash of recognition crossed Allura's face. 'I remember being 11 and thinking you were the prettiest girl I had ever seen.'

'Why, thank you very much.' The recognition seemed to be shifting to something else. If Lance was right, then it was suspicion. 'Does your brother still live in Altea?'

'He works at the factory with my parents.' Explained Shay, playing with a loose thread in her sweater. 'But he's trying to get enough money to move away somewhere else. He doesn't like Altea very much. Don't know why; it's not so bad here.'

Coran set a time for the rehearsals, every Wednesday after school, and then they were gone. Marco had long left for home, and Lance walked home with his friends. Slowly, the group started to fall apart. First, there was Shay, who lived on the other side of town and left them at the bus station. After a while, Pidge and Hunk, who had lived next to each other all their lives, parted with him. They didn't live that far away, but they didn't like to get too close to his house. He was yet to convince them to take their offer to have a sleepover.

'I'm home!' He called, slamming the front door. Soon came answers from the living room, where Veronica and Alicia were talking on the couch, with Marco squeezed on one end with his phone. Julia was sitting on the floor watching cartoons. Sounds from the kitchen told him Mom and Luis were probably cooking. Mom's decision to open a catering company, and Luis's decision to help her, meant that they were always cooking now. 

'Ah, the great actor!' Veronica jumped from her seat. 'Tell us, how did it go?'

Lance waited for Mom and Luis to come out of the kitchen, cleaning their hands on their aprons, and then he opened his arms and smiled, like the ringleader of a circus.

'I got the part!'

The family erupted in laugh as they hurried to him and hugged him. When looking over their shoulders, he saw Keith perched on the handrail, staring at the whole scene like it was something supernatural. Which was a weird way for a ghost to look at things.

Excusing himself, Lance left to put his backpack in his bedroom. Keith was on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

'It is like I said.' He shrugged, not even looking at him. 'A drama queen like you is just a natural at theatre.'

'You're just jealous.' Lance dropped his backpack near the desk and hung his jacket over his chair. Standing next to his mirror, he fixed his hair and gave his own image a dashing smile. After seeing the pretty girl who was going to be acting as Beatrice for the play, he felt the need to look better. He remembered Pidge's words on how two cast members always ended up dating after the play. Maybe Plaxum was a sign from above that it was time to move on from Nyma and from that horrible day. Suddenly, and without warning, he remembered Allura's strange reaction to Shay's words. 'Hey, Keith, do you know a Rax?'

He didn't know Shay's last name, but Keith seemed to understand exactly who he was talking about. At least that was what his face showed.

No, no, his face showed alarm. Like Lance had just told him he knew the nuclear launch codes.

'I have no idea who you're talking about.' He said, a little too late for it to be believable. 'Besides, don't we have bigger worries than the drama club and my acquaintances?'

' _We_ have some very big worries.' Said Lance, fixing his collar. Yet, he was sneaking glances at Keith as he looked at his own reflexion in the mirror. ' _I_ am trying to have fun and enjoy my senior year. Besides, how do you expect me to solve this case if I can't even get the whole truth from you?'

Now he turned around to look at Keith directly. His eyes weren't distant anymore, but they were something worse. They seemed colder, darker, and Lance was reminded of the ocean. He shivered.

Keith got up, moving past him like a cat walking past a dead mouse. Just before he disappeared, he leaned closer to him, and Lance felt the icy cold that came from him. His breath felt like a northern wind near his ear.

'You can't handle the whole truth, McClain.' He said, voice dripping with disdain. 'Our deal was that you are going to help me remember who killed me. But I don't need to tell you shit, you hear me?'

The cold froze him to his bones, but Lance didn't stagger. His recent victory was too fresh to simply let it die.

'You're not helping your case, buddy.' He said, returning Keith's look. They were close, very close. It was uncomfortable, noticing the slight pout that Keith's lips seemed to naturally make. 'I refuse to be the one left in the dark. And if you are keeping something from me, I will find out what it is. Even if I have to turn this damn town upside down.'

Keith sighed, walking away from him.

'That just might be what's necessary.'


	8. Heart Line

A thing he had learned with Keith was that Altea reached the peak of its beauty either during the early hours of the morning or after sunset. Those were times when you couldn't see a soul outside, and Shiro enjoyed the silence more than anything else.

It had been a stressful day for Shiro. He had just started his lunch break when the fire alarm went off, and the sound had made him sprint to his feet. Over the course of five minutes, he had opened every classroom door he had found until he felt sure no student was left behind. When he reached the gym, which served as a meeting point in case of a fire, he had helped to count the students and teachers. Then, they had waited for the fire department to come.

The conclusion? A prank. 

The ringing alarms, the panicked expressions of the students... it had been enough to make him feel like he was ripping at the seams. So once he got home he slipped into running clothes and sneakers and left for a walk.

Coming to Altea had been an impulsive decision, to say the least. His parents had left a few years after he had, he had lost contact with most of his high school friends, and the one thing that had actually felt special about Altea, a boy with jet black hair who sat next to Shiro to watch the stars, was gone. And yet he had come back to the place he had hurried to leave, the place he had hated for so long.

He remembered what he had told Allura. He was looking for closure. But closed in his apartment or his office, trying to focus on work or on anything else that wasn't that disastrous senior year, he didn't feel like he was dealing with anything.

That was partly why he had started running. He had been a good athlete in high school, and the army had been non-stop exercise, but this felt different. Altea was full of bad memories, but also good ones. With his runs, he tried to get a good mix of both. One day he would pass by his old house, while the other he would pass by the house where they had thrown that disastrous party. He also liked to visit Sal's Diner, which had a new cook, a student that Shiro saw around Garrison. While he missed the old cook's greasy fries simply out of nostalgia, he had to admit that the kid could cook like a chef.

He had tried to visit Matt, the only one of his high school friends that he had bothered to keep contact with over those years. He had mysteriously dropped contact during the winter, and now Shiro knew why. As Mrs. Holt told him, eyes wet with tears but chin held high, Matt and his father had been the victims of an accident, as she had put it. His friend was now in the hospital, deep in a medically induced coma.

Shiro hadn't gathered the courage to visit him yet.

There were many places that he hadn't dared to visit. Like his secret spot in Lake Bakku, where he and Keith used to go when it was all just too much. And most certain of all not Keith's house. When Allura had asked him if he wanted to have dinner with her in name of the good old days, he had immediately suggested Sal's Diner. He simply couldn't bear going to her house and looking across the street to that yard, that house. That damn house.

As he put his earphones, he wondered where he would go that day. In the end, he just blasted some relaxing music and saw where his feet took him.

It was the time of the day where people were coming home either from work or school. He recognized some of the faces, but the looks they were giving him and his prosthetic were something new. He had always felt the stares that his arm attracted, but it felt weird to be looked at like that in his own hometown. He used to be Takashi "Shiro" Shirogane, the golden boy of Garrison High. Now he was... someone else. And ever since he had left Altea he was trying to figure out exactly who that person was.

He contained himself not to laugh. A school counselor with more problems than all of his students combined. How fitting.

He lost the urge to laugh as he understood where he had ended up. The park.

His feet slowed as he made his way through the perfect paths. That was probably the only place in Altea where nothing had changed. They still planted the same flowers, kiss-me-quicks and forget-me-nots. The benches were still painted in the same shade of dark green. The swings and slide where children played were still there, and so were the monkey bars and the sandbox. And the white and blue gazebo was still there too.

The park. Years before, a boy had seen something there, and his actions had snowballed into something bigger than himself.

Shiro had only learned about it when it was too late. And when he did, he couldn't help but feel like it had been his fault. Sure, it had been Keith's choice. He told himself that. But Keith had only passed by the park because it was between their houses. And he had only had to go to Shiro's house because he was a stubborn idiot who had insisted on giving him a ride. And as always, he had just shrugged and accepted.

The next day, Keith had missed school. Shiro had simply thought he was sick, so he had asked his mother to make some chicken soup to drop off at the Koganes. He had found Mr. Kogane in his office, but he couldn't tell him what was wrong with Keith.

In the attic, he found the other boy lying in his bed, still wearing the clothes he had on when he had dropped Shiro off. There were deep dark circles under both his eyes, and he had avoided every one of Shiro's questions. When he went down, Keith's father was staring at him with an inquisitive look and had asked him where his son had been all of the night before.

Shiro had only blinked.

'He only got home at 3 am last night.' Mr. Kogane seemed as surprised as he was. 'I thought he was... well, with you.'

He had done his best not to assume the worst. It wasn't even dinner time when Keith had dropped him off at home, and while he was known to sometimes simply drive off to God knows where, Shiro doubted he would be out for so long. But every one of his questions was met with a shrug. So eventually, he dropped it. He trusted Keith. He thought that if it was anything serious, he would tell him.

Oh, how wrong he was.

The sound of a car approaching made him snap out of his memories. He recognized the black car that parked in the sidewalk next to the park, and he recognized the man with the white long hair that had stepped out. And while the building he was walking into was familiar, there seemed to be some changes.

The old building overlooking the park had been vacant ever since Shiro could remember it, but now it seemed like a small business had settled there. While the building still looked as decrepit as ever, with chipped paint and a rusty fire escape that curled around it like an orange snake, there was a purple sign hanging above the closed window that said "THE DRUID: PALM AND TAROT READINGS". For some reason, Shiro didn't think it got many clients. 

But apparently, Lotor Galra was one of them.

Shiro shrugged to himself. He didn't really care what his co-workers did with their free time, although it had surprised him to see Lotor of all people seeking a tarot reading. As he continued his run, he thought what Allura would think of that.

Only when he was crossing the street he realized that he recognized a second car parked on the street. And a quick glimpse through the window showed him the last person he expected to find there, looking at Lotor from above a newspaper she was more than certainly only pretending to read.

So Lotor got tarot readings while Allura sat in her car and obviously stalked him. 

He was beginning to think the teachers of Garrison High were crazier than the students.

* * *

Allura was a Science teacher. She taught her students about things the world around them, what it was made of and how it worked. Most importantly, she taught them about things that made sense.

Then why in hell was she standing outside a tarot card reading office?

As a growing number of things in her life, this was Lotor's fault.

Whenever she remembered the whole episode, she liked to remind herself that she wasn't a stalker or a thief. Lotor had been the one to steal her father's diary in the first place, she was just trying to get it back. And if that meant causing a little ruckus... Well, that was a price she was willing to pay. 

The students had just left for the lunch break when she spotted him in the teacher's lounge, sipping his coffee and reading a book. Lotor rarely talked to any of the other teachers, and he was quickly gaining quite the reputation. The staff described him as unfriendly and closed-off. The students said he was useless, rude, and the worst teacher they had ever had. He crossed the hallways of Garrison High like a hated prince.

A prince who always carried the same leather briefcase.

She knew that it was highly improbable for Lotor to carry the stolen diary with him at all times. She wasn't an expert on stealing, and yet she was pretty certain that rule number one of stealing was trying not to get caught. But she had absolutely no idea where he lived, and even if she did, she would not visit him at his home if there was a zombie apocalypse and his house was the only safe place in the world. So her only chance to get the diary back was during school hours.

Lotor was too engrossed in his book to notice her from her corner in the teacher's lounge, or when she left silently. The noise that came from the cafeteria was so loud that it flooded the otherwise calm hallway, and it was terribly easy to simply walk in and slide across the wall to the fire alarm. She hesitated, giving a look around. If she stood there for much longer, someone could notice her. So she had to act quickly or not act at all.

She saw Pidge on the other side of the room, short hair sticking out in every direction, and remembered how that teenage girl could have been suspended or expelled to get that diary. If a teenager could be brave, then so could she.

With a deep breath, Allura reached for the fire alarm and pulled.

When the bell started to ring furiously, she was already out of the door and in the hallway, feeling her heart pound like a drum. The students and teachers alike ran into the hallway, and she made a panicked expression. Fire drills at Garrison had been the same since the school had been founded, so most people knew what to do. Only a tall man stood, confused, still clutching his book and his coffee.

'What's going on?' Asked Lotor, a wrinkle of concern on his forehead. Allura placed a hand on his arm and tried to smile in a reassuring way.

'It's probably just some stupid prank, but better safe than sorry.' She pointed to the direction the mob was taking. 'Just follow them to the gym and it'll be alright.'

'I left my things in the-' Lotor made a move for the door, but Allura's fingers tightened on his arm.

'There's no time. Just trust me, ok?'

Reluctantly, Lotor stepped away from the door, but he continued to eye her suspiciously.

'Aren't you going?'

'I have to make sure that there's no one left behind.' She said. 'But don't worry about me, I'll be there in no time. I'll even bring your stuff.'

Her promise seemed to appease him, but he still looked back a few times before disappearing between the people. As soon as he was gone, Allura sneaked into the teacher's lounge. After so much time as a student, she felt strange standing there, like she was an intruder of some sort. The semi-empty coffee mugs and abandoned bags and newspapers only intensified that feeling.

Lotor always sat in the same place on a corner, and he seemed to have chosen the best chair in the lounge to claim as his own. His briefcase was on the floor, partly hidden under the chair.

Kneeling on the floor, Allura knew she had to be fast. In no less than five minutes, she was supposed to be playing the confused teacher who was just trying to enjoy her lunch break and was now forced to count the students to make sure they were all there and safe. As she unclasped Lotor's briefcase, she searched the bottom with her hand, hoping to find the hard cover of the diary, but she found only papers and more papers. Panicked, she felt some of them slip into her lap. 

'Fuck.' She whispered, gathering as many things as she could and stuffing them inside, hoping Lotor wouldn't notice. Not only the diary wasn't there, she was now on her way to get found out. 

Clutching the briefcase to her chest, she hurried to her feet and would have darted for the door if it wasn't for the small piece of paper that she hadn't noticed while putting the things away. She grabbed it before it reached the ground and quickly hid it in her blouse, hoping it wasn't anything important. She straightened her skirt and set for the gym at a brisk pace.

Lotor was leaning against a wall, apparently not sharing the panic everyone else was submerged in. If anything, he seemed annoyed. When he saw her carrying his briefcase, the shadow of a smile seemed to pass by his lips. 

'Thank you.' He said hesitantly, taking the briefcase from her hands. He seemed to weight it for a few seconds, but once he realized she hadn't taken anything, he seemed more relaxed. Happier. 'It was very nice of you to fetch me things.'

'No problem. We are co-workers, after all.' There was bitterness behind her smile. She saw it in his eyes that he could see it.

She waited patiently for the whole prank to be discovered, helping Coran make sure every student was safe and sound. When the firemen declared the whole thing to be a mistake and they all went back to their lives, she made a line to the bathroom, locking her stall after her. Only then she took out the card she had taken out of Lotor's briefcase.

It was a visiting card for some sort of psychic office. Well, the word psychic wasn't mentioned. But it did mention tarot and palm readings. Allura flipped the card and saw Lotor's neat handwriting. "MEET WITH HAXUS. 7 PM. BRING DIARY."

It was too good to be true. 

When classes were done, Allura got into her car and drove out to the address listed on the visiting card. She parked her car in a corner and opened a newspaper, hoping it would cover her face. While she pretended to read about the promotion of some police officer in Drule, she reviewed her plan. Well, she tried to come up with one. She didn't know who Haxus was or why he wanted her father's diary. She wasn't even sure what she was supposed to do, but she doubted it would be smart to simply step up to Lotor and order him to give her the diary back.

She was about to give up when a black car pulled up only a few feet in front of her. Allura hid her face behind the newspaper, keeping her eyes only a bit above. Lotor stepped out of his car, gave a quick look around, and walked into the building. Before the door had closed, Allura was on the move.

Her foot met the door before it could close, and she slipped inside like an eel. Only when the door closed behind her with a loud bang she understood that she might have made a mistake. 

She was standing in a dark space, facing a staircase. The only source of light was a window at the end of the stairs, but it was covered with a purple curtain so thick the light became a plum-colored glow. Lotor had apparently disappeared within the few seconds where she hadn't seen him, so now she was alone. The only sound she could hear was her breathing and the soft sounds of voices and machinery coming from... somewhere. She wasn't really sure. If she had to bet, she would say they were coming from some kind of basement.

But the strangest part was the smell. 

Allura had expected many things from a place called The Druid that offered readings of the future. While the weird purple light was fit, she had expected silks and similar fabrics draped across every surface, some kind of eerie music, maybe even crystals in strange colors. She had also expected incense. It just seemed fitting.

The Druid didn't smell like incense. It had the same distinctive smell that she and her classmates back at uni had called chemistry lab smell. The odor of acetone was faint, but it was there. And there was something even fainter underneath it, something she couldn't quite understand. An unpleasant smell like rotten eggs. 

With her breath caught in her throat, Allura began to climb the steps. The cold iron of the handrail seemed to give her hands frostbite at any given moment, and the fact that she couldn't see anybody was only making her feel worse. She tried to keep her eyes fixed on the window. She was Allura Altea, and it wasn't a creepy building that was going to make her run away.

She reached the top of the staircase and found that it was nearly impossible to see beyond the limits of the window's frail light. Before she could move, a hand clasped over her mouth while an arm snaked around her waist.

Allura wasted no time. The years spent in a city as big as London had taught her how to ward off creeps, and she hit her attacker with an elbow right in the gut. She turned around, ready to sock him in the jaw, when she realized who she was looking at.

'You're stronger than you look like.' Yelped Lotor. Doubled over himself, he looked a lot less conceited. For a moment she wondered whether elbowing him every morning before work would make it easier to deal with him.

'Why in hell were you trying to kidnap me?' She asked, her voice a harsh hiss. Allura had a strong rule against saying the word fuck, but Lotor was testing her limits.

'Keep your voice down.' He ordered, eyes swaying from one end of the staircase to the other. 'Why are you even here in the first place?'

She thought about telling him that she had been through his stuff, but a quick glance between them told her he was already putting the puzzle pieces together. Proudly, she lifted up her chin.

'I want the diary back.' She said. Before Lotor could talk, she cut him off. 'I want it back and I want it now.'

'Why do you even want it so bad?' He asked.

'It was my father's.' For a second, it looked like a shadow had crossed his face. 'Besides, why do _you_ want it?'

Lotor was about to answer when they heard the front door open once again. A moment of hesitation flashed on his face before he took her by the wrist and shoved her into a room hidden by the hallway's shadows. Allura was about to protest when she heard a man's voice outside.

'Did you bring it?' The voice was unfamiliar, but Allura could guess that he was talking about the diary. Her hands curled into fists.

'I already got rid of it.' Lotor's voice glided smoothly over the lie, so much that she actually thought it may be true for a second. But if Lotor had destroyed the diary, then why would he even bother coming there? 'I'm just here to see if everything is going according to plan.'

'That's something you'll have to check with somebody else.' There was a pause. 'I mean... I can check for you if you want, sir.'

'Good. Do that.' The respect in the other man's voice made Allura wonder exactly how many times Lotor visited that building, and what exactly was going on in there. 'Now if you'll excuse me...'

' _She_ wants to see you.' The simple way the man said she was enough to make a shiver go up Allura's spine. There was a long pause of uncomfortable silence outside the door before Lotor told the man to leave.

'I'll be right behind you.' His voice was calm, but that calmness disappeared as soon as the steps on the stairs faded. He opened the door and pulled her to the window. 'You have to leave. Now.'

'What's going on?' She asked. Lotor pushed the curtain away and opened the window, showing the alley behind the building. An escape route. 'You may avoid my questions, but that doesn't mean that I won't stop asking them.'

'Here.'

She was surprised to see that Lotor was holding out the diary she had been searching for all that time. Her fingers curled around the spine, only inches away from his, and she feared that he would simply pull the diary away. Instead, he let his hands fall. She felt like a school girl that had just been handed the most awkward Valentine's Day gift ever.

'Why are you giving this to me?' It still felt like a trap, even when Lotor gave a step away and put his hands behind his back.

'You can know the truth if you want to.' He said. 'But don't be a hero. Garrison High would be losing a very talented Science teacher.'

She searched for an answer in his eyes, but he quickly turned away and went down the stairs. Her eyes followed him down the stairs, a man who moved like he was about to face his own personal guillotine, and only when he disappeared she slipped out of the window and into the fire escape. Once safe in her car, she hugged the diary to her chest and took a deep breath.

'I won't lose it again.' She whispered, her lips almost brushing the cover. 'I promise, father.'

This time, she kept the diary where she could see it. But as she drove away from The Druid, her eyes lingered on Lotor's car. He had been holding the diary just out of her reach all that time, and now he just handed it to her? And what was it with that strange place with the rotten smell where people called him sir?

Her first thought was to tell Coran, but she immediately ruled against it.

She was yet to make sense of what side Lotor was on or what was going on, but she felt like she was back on track again. Whatever it was that was hiding in the shadows, she was about to find it out.

* * *

'Mom? Anyone?' He called, stepping inside the house. No answer came. 'Come on in, guys. Seems like we're home alone.'

'That's not making me calmer.' Said Hunk, eyeing the walls suspiciously, as if something bad could jump out from a corner at any second. And while Lance agreed that there was something awful in that house, he doubted Keith had the glamour to make a decent dramatic entrance. 

'See you guys have been making some changes.' Pidge seemed calm, but there was an edge of tension in her voice. 'Thank God you painted the walls. The previous color was hideous.'

'Can you be a little less nonchalant when you talk about breaking into my house?' Lance dropped his keys into the bowl they kept by the door. Then he gave another look around, half expecting to see Keith glaring at him. When he didn't, he pointed to the stairs. 'Let's go to my room, guys.'

Hunk seemed to turn pale, while Pidge seemed more curious than anything else. Lance made a mental note to ask Keith what exactly he had done to them during their little adventure during the summer. 

The fake fire alarm had put everyone on edge. Lance had scrambled to find Marco, every nerve in his body telling him to keep his brother safe, to keep him away from any danger. He had found him lost in the hallway, not knowing what to do. Pidge and Hunk, who had been through various fire drills, were the ones who took them to the gym. After the whole thing was revealed as a prank (and after Pidge was cleared of suspicion, thanks to Lance and Hunk's testimony), Marco had decided to spend the afternoon with his friends. 

And since Lance's friends hadn't been to his house yet, he thought this was just as good as any other time for that. 

He quickly showed them where the bathroom was, in case they needed to use it, and then he led them up to his bedroom. Hunk sat quietly in the chair by the desk, almost as if he was waiting for something bad to happen. Pidge was still on edge, but she still sprawled over Lance's bed and commented on the emo band posters on the wall. Lance said that he simply hadn't gotten around to remove them yet, when the truth was that he knew Keith would give him a living hell if he messed with his emo bands.

The conversation started by being tense and awkward, but soon Lance found that his good mood was contagious. Slowly, they began laughing about the whole fire alarm ordeal, Pidge pretending to be very offended at her being the prime suspect (although Lance could tell she was proud she had been the first one everyone had thought about). Then they talked about play rehearsal, where Lance had been desperately trying to woo Plaxum. 

It wasn't long before they were all sitting on Lance's bed, gossiping and laughing. And yet, behind his good mood, he could feel something near them. Keith's presence, always too ready to make itself known to Lance.

'Hey, guys, guess what?' Hunk stopped, opening his arms as if he was the ringmaster at a circus about to announce a great act. 'I'm learning how to read palms!'

'Really?' Asked Pidge, raising an eyebrow. 'I thought you either feared or didn't believe in the supernatural.'

'Well, it's not the supernatural. A lot of it is just who you are as a person and how that may develop over time.' There was a pause, and Lance saw a blush creep up Hunk's cheeks. 'And Shay is learning and she talked about it while we were practicing for the play so I...'

'Wait, wait, wait.' Lance rested his head in his hands, smiling maliciously. 'You two were practicing those lovey-dovey scenes? Alone? Hmmm...'

'It's not like that!' Hunk groaned. 'Listen, do you want to know your future or what?'

'Yeah, you can go on without me.' Pidge rolled her eyes and lied down, yawning. 'I don't believe in that crap.'

'Oh, so now you're too high and mighty for knowing the future, huh?' Asked Lance, already scooting closer to Hunk.

'Don't tell me you believe you can know the future by looking at some random lines in your hands?' Pidge scoffed, and then her eyes turned serious. 'Wait, you're Lance. You probably check your horoscope every week too.'

Lance kept shut, mostly because if he talked he would have to admit that not only he read his horoscope, he also took its advice almost religiously. If a ghost could be living in his house, then why couldn't the stars in the sky change his luck?

'Wow, your hands are soft.' Hunk turned Lance's palms upwards and ran a finger down the lines in each. 'Bear with me, I'm not very good at this. So... from what I picked up from Shay, your dominant hand shows your past and stuff, and the non-dominant shows your future. Or what may become your future. I don't know, I'm a beginner.'

'Ah, so you won't be able to see whether or not Lance gets some?' Asked Pidge. Lance threw a pillow at her. 'Come on, it's obvious that's the only thing you want to know!'

'Shut it, Pidge!' Lance bit his lip. It was true that he was kind of curious. He had been kind of on a dry spell before he met Nyma, and after... Well, he certainly didn't feel like dating. But everyone seemed invested in this whole "move to Altea to change our lives" thing, so he might as well try and make the best out of his senior year. If a hot babe showed up, who was he to defy his fate? 'Continue, Hunk.'

'Huh. It's fun.' Hunk tilted his head. 'The lines on your palms are so different from each other.'

'Is that good?' Asked Lance. 'Wait, don't tell me. Of course it's good, it's me we're talking about.'

'It just means that you're probably going to change a lot.' Hunk paused on a line just under Lance's fingers. 'The heart line, for example. The one on your left hand is super wiggly, which usually means a lack of serious relationships. It's also super broken and stuff. But then on your other hand, it seems like a whole different person when it comes to feelings.'

'Wait, wait, wait.' Pidge raised a hand. 'Are you telling me Lance may actually get his shit together?!'

'Pidge, if you don't shut up I'm going to kick you out!'

Hunk continued to give him an explanation of what his future held, through mumbles and apologies for not being exactly good at it, but Lance couldn't even hear him. A whole different person. In Lance's mind that meant happy. Hopeful. With a future full of love and life right in front of him. 

Things wouldn't be bleak for so long.

Hunk and Pidge left after a while, and Lance watched the way they visibly relaxed once they stepped out of the house. He, on the other hand, felt a weird tingling feeling between his shoulder blades that usually meant Keith was around.

'I simply cannot believe you.' His voice was dripping with disdain, as always. 'Palm reading? Every time I think you reached rock bottom in my consideration, you go and find a shovel to dig yourself further.'

'Shut it. You're just mad because I spent a lovely afternoon with my friends while you sulked around.' Lance's smile was victorious, but he could see Keith tensing up from the corner of his eye.

'Yeah, maybe I don't want lovely afternoons reading horoscopes or whatever it is you do!' Keith's face was flushed, and Lance had to admit that he didn't look so dead when he was red like that. 'Maybe I just want my damn murder solved!'

'Ok, you can insult me, but you don't play with the forces of the universe!' Lance opened up a magazine on his desk and flipped the pages. 'See, my horoscope says that things may not be as they seem, so I need to keep a ready eye. Well, today there was a fire alarm at school and I thought that I would die, but it turned out just to be a prank.'

'Somehow, I doubt your "ready eye" was the one who found out you weren't all about to become BBQ.'

'Oh yeah?! What's your birthday?'

Keith blinked, as defensive as if Lance had asked him for his credit card number and his mother's maiden name. Lance was starting to think he was a little paranoid about sharing personal information.

'October the 23rd.' He said, slowly, as if he was sharing some kind of secret. 'This is bullshit. I don't even know my sign.'

'Scorpio.' Said Lance, cutting him off. 'Ah, it says here that you should keep an open mind. The best things are hiding where you least expect. Also, Lance is always right and you are always wrong, so you should listen to him at all times. It's what it says right here.'

'No it doesn't!' Keith actually looked offended, like he was going to fight back. Lance waited for him to do it, but in the end, he just rolled his eyes. 'Does it look like I have time for this? It's been weeks and the murder board is still empty!'

'Don't blame me for your faulty memory.' Groaned Lance, shrugging. He had spent countless hours trying to gather things to revive Keith's memory. They were still trying to figure out exactly why he had forgotten his murder, and Lance had done anything he could think of. He had toured with Keith around the house, hoping he would have some kind of epiphany. He had searched for the Facebook profiles of half of Altea, expecting Keith to jump up in the air at any second and reveal that he now remembered the face of his murderer.

Keith gave him an icy glare and disappeared. Was it just Lance or was he getting grumpier by the day?

Lance sighed, reaching for his laptop. He had an essay to finish for Mr. Galra's class, 10 pages no less, and he didn't really have time to dwell on Keith of all people. 

Yet, his mind lingered while he tried to explain the causes that had led to the First World War. October the 23rd. Keith's birthday was coming up, but he didn't seem excited at all. Lance was usually ready for his birthday months in advance, and his birthday parties took weeks just to organize. Although he had to admit that a ghost probably didn't have many friends. Especially if that ghost was Keith.

His fingers stopped. Would it seem weird if he wished Keith a happy birthday? 

He shrugged, shaking the thought from his mind. Keith would probably just tell him to fuck off, the charming gentleman that he was. 

And it wasn't like he cared, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *reads your horoscope* It says here you're going to leave kudos and comments.  
> Anyway, guys, thank you very much for all the kind comments and support! You're all really lovely and I'm proud to announce that the next two chapters are going to be full of Klance developments, so stay tuned!


	9. Evergreen

When Lance had proposed their deal he had, against all odds, actually felt a little bit of hope. 

He couldn't not, after all. Lance seemed so happy and optimistic that he let himself be carried away in the most literal sense of the word. That night when he left the attic he was floating a good five inches above the ground, and he felt like he was riding his motorcycle again, wind whipping him in the face.

Now he felt like those six years had never passed and he had just found himself turned into a ghost again. It was a vibrant, almost palpable despair. 

October would soon come to an end. Every night, when the McClains fell asleep, Keith go up to Lance's bedroom so they could look at the murder board and try to find something that could spark a memory in Keith. They looked at photographs, taken at the crime scene by journalists, and Lance even read aloud some articles about the murder to see if Keith could remember anything that was out of place.

But every night, he watched Lance crawl into bed with a designated face while he simply faded away. Most nights he went to the garage, watching the white sheet that covered his motorcycle. And he thought. 

The whole thing was a bunch of dots, but Keith simply couldn't connect them. Whenever he came back to the last hours of his life, he always remembered the same things. His father's voice echoing in his ears, although he couldn't hear anything. They had fought over something. Keith wasn't sure what it was. Then the party, or at least what he remembered as being many people pressed against him.

And the water. That was what he really couldn't piece together.

'God, I hate this.' Lance was lying with his belly down on the bed, and his voice came muffled through the pillows. Keith was forced to agree with him. 'I hate this murder board. I hate it with all my strength.'

'And I hate you, but there's not like I can do anything about it!' Snapped Keith, getting up from his seat near the window. Lance raised his face from the pillows and gave him an angry look.

'What is up with you?' He asked, shifting his weight to one of his elbows. 'You've been particularly grumpy these past few days. And that's saying something.'

'I'm not grumpy, I'm frustrated.' He looked at the murder board, the solitary pieces of paper like islands on a sea of cork. A sea of things that he couldn't understand, not even after all that time. 'And you're not exactly helping.'

'Me?!' Keith snickered internally at Lance's offended expression. 'I've been nothing but helpful!'

'Yes, because joining the school play and hanging out with your friends is what's really going to solve this murder case.' Bitter bile rose up his stomach to his mouth. Although he would never admit it, maybe not even to himself, he was jealous. Lance was living a life that a part of him had always wanted, dangling it right in front of Keith. It was cruel, plain and simple as that.

He knew that he was acting like a dick. But he also had his reasons.

'Whatever, man.' Lance swung his legs out of the bed and stretched. 'I'm going to grab a snack. You're welcome to stay and sulk.'

Keith waited until he heard Lance's steps down the stairs to follow him. 

It confused him to be in that house now. If he had thought his bedroom had changed too much with Lance's stuff lying around, then the rest was unrecognizable. The detail that crept him out the most was how almost every wall now had dozens of photographs of the McClains in various stages. There were pictures of Lance and his siblings as newborns, toddlers, children, teenagers, basically every year of their lives. There were pictures of weddings and christenings, birthdays, and every other family celebration.

But what made him feel the strangest was the picture of two people that Keith could only guess were Lance's parents when they were younger. The picture was old, but the young couple smiling at him was beautiful. She had a lot of Lance's features, the same brown hair and good cheekbones (Keith had to admit they were good), but her skin was lighter. The man next to her seemed like a slightly older Lance, all bronze colored skin and a smile so sharp it could probably cut through steel. Some writing scratched on the corner told him the picture had been taken in Varadero during the 80s.

He had always wished to have a picture of his mother, but no album showed her anyone who looked him. He didn't look much like his father, who was all square jaw and big shoulders. And whatever he didn't take from his father, he supposed he took from his mother. From what he could tell, she was slender and almost cat-like in the way that she moved. Probably with a resting bitch face.

He also supposed they had some of the same quirks. The only reason he knew this was because his father would look at him strangely sometimes, a look that was somewhere between sad and afraid. And it left Keith knowing that his father saw in him the shadow of the woman who had left them. In those moments, he couldn't help but feel like he was bringing something wicked into the house, memories that had no use in the present. Even if there were no photographs of the woman who had given birth to him in the house, he still felt like a walking photo. Like a shadow.

Like a ghost.

How fitting. 

Lance was sitting on the kitchen counter while licking a cookie-dough covered spoon, his feet dangling above the ground while he chatted with his older brother. He barely gave Keith a second glance while he kept going on and on about play rehearsal and how cute his love interest was. 

Keith had never seen his kitchen so full of food or smelling so good. He and his father had only used it to make noodles and the occasional southern recipe that his father could barely remember (results varied). Besides the cookies, which Lance's brother was putting in the oven, there were also several pies of different flavors, little pastries in pastel colors, and a birthday cake. And that was what made the weight in Keith's stomach sink even lower. 

A beautiful birthday cake with white frosting and little plastic flowers. Sitting in the counter inside a box.

He knew that the McClains owned a catering business, and the cake was probably for somebody's birthday, but for a second he thought that maybe, somehow, someone had remembered. 

'Lance, can you watch the cookies?' Asked Luis, cleaning his hands on his apron. 'I'm going upstairs to check on the baby.'

'No problem.' As soon as Luis was out of the door, Lance shot Keith an annoyed look. 'What are you doing here, mullet? And why are you staring at that cake? Are you going to throw it at me or something?'

'No matter how much I want to, no, I won't do that.' Keith stepped away from the cake, feeling his cheeks burn. Being caught like that, deep in his own pity party, and by Lance of all peole, was embarrassing. 'It's just... nice.'

'It's more than nice, it's a work of art.' Lance gave his spoon a good lick and smiled. 'Like everything my mother does.'

'Really? And what went wrong with you?'

'Ugh, I can't stand you.' Lance rolled his eyes, obviously done with him. 'Go away, I need to watch the oven.'

'Hope you get burned.' Grumbled Keith as he made his way out of the kitchen. His eyes caught a glimpse of the calendar Mrs. McClain had attached to the fridge using magnets, and his heart sank a little bit further down his chest. 

He had given up on counting how old he was somewhere along the line, but he could guess that if he was alive, he would be in his 20s. Probably out of college, probably with a job. Probably sharing a house with Shiro, having constant fights about leaving his laundry scattered across the floor or putting his feet up on the table. Maybe they would stay in Altea, but Keith doubted it. They could go to Drule, and get trendy jobs on those steel and glass buildings that seemed to cover the city. And Keith could drive his motorcycle to work every day and come home on his birthday to a small gathering of close friends where they would drink beer and watch TV.

But all that was impossible. The book had been closed too soon, and now he couldn't even peak at the chapters he had left unread.

After he had told Lance his birthday, he had half expected him to remember, even though he was certain it wouldn't happen. And as far as he could tell, the next day would be just as bleak as the rest. He liked to think that Shiro, maybe Allura or even Matt, remembered. He would settle even for one of his old classmates. So he wouldn't be as alone as he felt he was.

He passed by the office, where Mrs. McClain was hunched over paperwork, her reading glasses perched on her nose. 

He had spent a lot of time in his father's office, before and after dying. Before, it was rare to find it empty, and he had used every chance he had to find something. When he was younger, he tried to find pictures of his mother or any clue about who she was. When he got a little older, he went there to steal his father's cigarettes (he would never admit to Keith's face that he smoked, so he couldn't really say anything when he noticed the cigarettes had started going missing).

Plus, it was a rare thing. Something he only did when he was really stressed, or angry, or... well, sometimes it was just because he felt like it. It wasn't like Shiro let him smoke too much. The bastard seemed to think that if he forced Keith to do enough yoga the habit would stick. It never did.

His lungs seemed to twist, and he genuinely started missing the heat, the slender shape between his fingers, the glowing tip in the dark. Getting ash on his clothes, or going into fits of coughing (no matter how much he smoked, he always coughed). He missed all those things, and many more.

He remembered the murder board in Lance's room. Maybe not now, but soon. Even if he couldn't get his life back, he could get some rest. 

And that was all that he wanted.

* * *

He hadn't forgotten about Keith's birthday. No matter how much he wanted to.

The reason Lance didn't mind Keith so much anymore was that they had a very specific agreement: they would not hurt each other, but they wouldn't be friends either. Side by side but with a good five feet between the both of them. They didn't talk about hobbies or feelings or anything else, and they definitely didn't care about each other's birthday. Keith seemed to barely give a fuck that Lance was alive.

So Lance couldn't see himself actively worrying about Keith. He just couldn't. And he wasn't.

What he felt was pity. 

Feeling pity for your worst enemy in the world is something quite strange, and he wouldn't wish it to happen to anybody. Because while Keith was an asshole that probably hadn't felt actual feelings in years, Lance had trouble imagining someone living such a bleak life that they couldn't even be excited about their own birthday. Lance's birthday was his favorite day of the year, a day that was solely for himself, like a private Christmas. It was a day when his siblings let him do anything he wanted, when his mother got teary-eyed and broke out the baby pictures, when his father woke him up with pancakes.

His throat tightened as he understood he would never have his father knowing on the door with a tray anymore. The present felt strange without him, but the future felt even stranger.

'Lance?' Pidge's small fingers clicked in front of his eyes, making him snap out of his thoughts. 'Are you awake?'

'Yeah, sorry.' He said. 'Anyway, what do we need?'

They were standing in a corridor in Olkari, a bricolage store just outside of town. Pidge was filling the cart Lance was pushing, while Hunk, his arms filled with even more things, stopped occasionally to tell them it wasn't too late, they hadn't bought all that stuff yet, they could still turn back. 

His quick friendship with Hunk and Pidge had landed him a spot in the Halloween Prank Committee, which, apparently, was a tradition. Every year, Hunk and Pidge would play a prank on Principal Iverson. Their freshman year, they had spread oil over the floor of his office, something he had only noticed when he had fallen ass first. Sophomore year they had hacked the school's website and changed his photo to an anime girl (who, as the info told any interested reader, had graduated from Anime University with a doctorate in Weeaboo). Junior year they had somehow sneaked live farm animals into his office. When Lance had asked how they had done it Hunk had simply given him the empty look of a man who had seen some serious shit and refused to answer.

This was the senior year now, and they were determined to play the biggest prank on Garrison's history. 

They had put all of their pocket money together and had marched down to Olkari, where Pidge and Hunk were regulars. But even after they had explained the plan to Lance, he was finding it hard to grasp. They used too many technical terms. So he simply pushed the cart and tried not to think about how it was Keith's birthday.

 _What am I supposed to do about it, anyway?_ He asked, zoning out while Hunk and Pidge discussed the pros and cons of different kinds of work tools. _We're not friends, it's not like I'm going to throw him a surprise party or anything._

Still, he felt weird. Mom had always taught him to wish everyone a happy birthday, even if he didn't like them. Guilt and pity churred in his stomach whenever he thought how awkward he would feel later that night when he and Keith hunched over his computer again, trying to find anything that helped them.

'Hey, guys?' He called. Hunk and Pidge turned, obviously eager to return to their discussion. 'Like, what would you two do if you knew someone who's kind of a dick to you but you kind of have to work together and you wanted to be nice to them without being really nice to them? Because ya know. They're a dick.'

'Well...' Started Hunk, before Pidge cut him off.

'I stopped listening after three words.' She pointed to one of the corridors. 'Go get me some bolts.'

Lance huffed, leaving them behind to discuss their nerdy stuff. Was that really such a weird question to ask?

He grabbed the bolts and stuffed them into the cart, making his way back to his friends as slow as he could. His father used to be crazy about bricolage stores, making thousands of plans to build stuff around the house. It annoyed Mom to no end, and she kept pushing him to actually do something. He had tried building a tree house, but when the whole thing had almost crushed Veronica, they decided that it was better to let Dad make plans without actually doing things.

And then, he noticed it.

It was a shelf full of scented candles, something he wouldn't usually notice. The candles were big, impossible to hold if you weren't using both of your hands, and let out a faint smell that mixed different kinds of flowers, fruits, and natural elements. Lance shot a look towards his friends, and seeing them both still arguing, he decided to give them a closer look.

When the idea hit him, he was too weak to resist.

That night, after dinner, he slammed the candle on his desk next to his open Math homework. He lit it with a match and sat down, bending his head over equations and numbers that made no sense to him. Mr. Slav, the Math teacher at Garrison, was a very smart man. He was also a rambler with a very nervous voice, and Lance took nothing out of his lessons.

Soon, a musky smell filled the attic. Lance had picked a green candle, Pidge's suggestion. He had considered picking a read one that smelled like cinnamon, but that had felt too Keith like. This one smelled like a forest, a rich and fresh smell. The label on the side told him that particular scent was called "Evergreen Delight", and while the name was corny, Lance had to admit that it smelled pretty good.

Yet, no matter how good his room smelled, he still couldn't figure out that homework.

'What the fuck is that?'

He turned around to see Keith, staring at him like he had just run over an old lady. 

'A scented candle.' Answered Lance, turning back to his homework. 'Smells divine.'

'Is this another trap?' Asked Keith, and Lance could feel his cold eyes on his back. 'Because I won't be fooled twice.'

'Jesus, holding a grudge much?' Lance bit his lip. His attempt at being nice was quickly turning into another fight. 'If you don't like it you can leave. I don't have time for you, I'm trying to do my homework.'

He expected Keith to shoot something back, but he was met with complete silence. For a second he thought he may have left, and he held himself back before sneaking a look. Only moments after that, he felt something cold graze his arm. Once again, he resisted the urge to look.

But this time, he fell for it.

Keith was leaning over the candle, his pale face only inches above the flame. The light shot right through him, and Lance was suddenly reminded of two things. One was that Keith was transparent. That he was more a hologram than anything else, something that wasn't meant to stay for too long. 

The second was that Keith was really young.

He had always known that he had died when he was the same age as Lance, but he only now he saw it was a fact. Keith always looked so stoic that it added almost 10 years to his appearance. But now that they were so close and he looked so relaxed, he was forced to admit that from some angles Keith looked even younger than him. And the way he looked at the fire, a way that showed a longing that Lance couldn't quite place, made Lance feel like he was watching something that he shouldn't.

He had seen the way that Keith had acted around the candle on that night when he had laid out his trap. Now that he was watching it from up close, it felt even stranger. 

Maybe it had something to do with the whole "follow the light" thing. Or maybe it was just because of the fire's warmth. But whatever it was, Lance felt guilty when his pencil scratched the paper, making Keith's head turn. 

'What are you doing?' He asked, but Lance was caught off-guard by the lack of irritation in his voice. It was so rare to see Keith in a mood that wasn't annoyed.

'Math homework.' 

'Is Mr. Slav still the Math teacher at Garrison?' Keith laid his head on his arms, eyes fixed on the candle. 

'Yeah.'

'Ugh, that guy can be infuriating.' A chuckle escaped Keith's lips. 'I used to have a friend who couldn't stand him. He could deal with even the biggest assholes in the world with a smile on his face, but he saw Mr. Slav and he simply flipped.'

'You had friends? Like, ever?' It was too much for Lance to resist. And it was right there. Keith shot him a look, as if he had just remembered that they were supposed to be enemies who only talked because they had the same goal of getting rid of each other. 'Sorry, sorry.'

'You don't have to be nice to me just because it's my birthday.' Whatever vulnerability Lance thought he had seen on Keith's face, it quickly disappeared, buried back under the familiar scowl. 'Thanks for remembering and all, but it's not like I'm gonna treat you any different just because you were nice to me once. You're still an air-head.'

'Yeah, well, you're still an emo.' The comeback was weak, but Lance still puffed out his chest like it was some kind of victory. 'What do you say about that, huh?'

For some reason, Keith's eyes seemed hazy. His face was still caught in that special kind of disgust he reserved just for Lance, but it was static. Like his brain had suddenly frozen. Watching him, Lance froze too for a few seconds.

'This smell...' The words came out slowly, like they were stuck in honey. 'What... What is this smell?'

'It's the candle.' Said Lance. Seeing Keith like that was freaking him out. He was usually a person with quick reflexes and an even quicker tongue. It wasn't like him to act like time had slowed down. No, it looked even worse. It looked like time was rewinding. 'Dude, you're freaking me out.'

Keith staggered back, mouth partly open, hands trembling, and eyes focused on something that Lance couldn't see. Something that wasn't terrifying, no, Keith didn't look scared. But it was still something that was outside of Lance's reach, something that existed for Keith alone on that moment. Something... something...

* * *

_Rough hands grabbed him by his jacket's collar, and Keith felt his feet rising off the ground. A terrible smell of cheap cologne filled his nose as he heard the man's voice, more a growl than anything else, ring in his ears._

_'Do you think this is a game, boy?' He asked, baring his teeth. His breath smelled like cigarettes._

_Keith struggled, shaking his legs until his foot came in contact with his attacker's crotch. The man yelped, and he felt himself fall to the ground, the hard edges of rocks jagging into his lower back. He tried to get up, his hands digging into the dirt and leaves that covered the ground, but it wasn't long before he felt a kick on the side of his body. The air on his lungs left, and he found himself crawling away._

_Cursing himself for not remembering to bring his knife, Keith staggered to his feet and gave a few steps back, divided between fighting and fleeing._

_A fist zoomed near him, and he dodged just in time to avoid the blow. He responded with a punch in the dark, hitting a hard stomach that didn't even seem to notice him. He felt those thick fingers trying to wrap around his neck again and for once he decided that a fight simply wasn't worth it._

_He slipped a foot over his attacker's legs, making him fall to the ground, and ran as fast as he could. His legs and back still hurt from being dropped, but it wasn't long before he started feeling his shoes getting soaked. When the water hit his knees, he dived, trying to go as deep as he could. He wasn't a very good swimmer, but he was able to set a good distance between the other man and himself when he emerged again, gasping for air._

_His attacker was barking something, but Keith's heartbeat was too fast for him to understand what he was saying. He dived again, limbs moving in a sloppy but quick way, his clothes weighing him down, but soon he felt ground again under his feet._

_Keith pushed himself out of the water on all fours. His lungs felt like they were raw, painful and in need of air. He took deep breaths with his mouth completely open, letting himself fall on his back. The ground on this side was a lot softer, fewer rocks and more grass. He couldn't hear the other man anymore, and the night was silent except for the sound of crickets hiding in the bushes and the trees' branches swaying in the wind._

_'Holy shit.' He caught himself saying, putting his damp hair away from his forehead. He let the smell of the evergreen trees around him fill his lungs, and he told himself that it was alright. He was safe. It was over._

_He rose to his feet and turned around, but he still couldn't stop his limbs from shaking, and he was only half certain that it was from being soaked head to toe. He deeply regretted not bringing his knife, missing the reassuring press of the cold steel against his palm or the feeling of its sharp edge against his leg. That was safety felt like, but he would settle for silence._

_And yet, why did he feel such a weight on the end of his stomach?_

* * *

Lance could only stare as Keith seemed to slowly fade out from his trance. He held a hand out, trying to shake him awake, but his hand simply crossed over his shoulder like it would a sheet of water. A sheet of freezing cold water.

'Ah, shit!' He yelled, pulling away. 'Keith? Uh... you ok, buddy?'

'I...' Keith shook his head. 'I think I remembered something. About that night. It was the candle! The smell!'

'Really?' Asked Lance, feeling a half-smile rise on his face. 'That's great! So you remembered who killed you?'

'No.' Keith seemed anything but thrilled about the prospect of finally solving the mystery that was holding him back on earth. Instead, he seemed like he had just been hit in the head. 'I wasn't here. I was... somewhere with trees. And water. And I was fighting someone.'

'I'll get the murder board.'

To avoid his family getting worried, Lance kept the corkboard hidden under his bed. He quickly grabbed it and propped it against his wardrobe, reaching for the paper and pins he kept on his desk. Keith started talking, telling him all the details he could about his memory, and Lance wrote everything and pinned it on the murder board. When he was done, it was time to start the theories.

'I don't really know the dude I was fighting with, but he seemed pretty mad.' Keith looked at the board as if Lance had written something more, something he could see if he just glared enough. 'I think I did something to piss him off.'

'Thanks, that literally takes no one off the suspect list.' Lance paced around the room, biting his thumb's nail. 'Do you think he was the one who killed you?'

'He's pretty up my list.' Said Keith, after a pause. 'But I think that if I saw his face I would be able to know.'

Lance tapped his fingers against his leg, hoping that that would somehow help him think. A huge man who had a bone to pick with Keith, a place with water surrounded by trees, and a bunch of other things that Lance supposed would make sense if only he knew a little bit more. But what more could be expected of a teenager whose only way of solving a cold case was an amnesiac ghost and his laptop?

'This would be so much easier if we were cops.' He groaned, burying his face in his hands. Then, slowly, he lifted it to meet Keith's gaze. 'Or even if we just... knew what they knew about this case.'

They kept the stare for a few seconds, and Lance could basically see Keith's brain working behind those blue eyes. He licked his lips hesitantly.

'Lance, remember when I said I can't leave the house?' Lance nodded. 'Well, there is one day where I can go outside. But only after sundown, and even then it's only until midnight.'

'Let me guess. That night is Halloween.'

'Yes. And if you're thinking what I'm thinking...' Keith trailed off. Before he knew it, Lance let out a hysterical laugh. It was more of disbelief than joy, like the idea hadn't really settled and he still thought it was a joke. But Keith looked dead serious. Pun intended.

'We're robbing the sheriff's office!' The laughter stopped. 'Oh, God. We're robbing the sheriff's office.'

'Now, we're gonna need to be quick and smart if we want to do this.' A shadow of uncertainty crossed Keith's face as he bit his lip. 'And we're gonna need a plan.'

Thousands of thoughts crossed over Lance's mind at the same time, and an idea started forming on his mind. Reaching for his phone, he took a deep breath. Stealing police files with a ghost was the craziest idea he had ever had, and for that, he would need the craziest plan ever. And as he wrote a message on the group chat he shared with Hunk and Pidge, he also knew that he would need their help.

Seconds after the message was sent, his friends erupted. Pidge thought it was a great idea. Hunk thought he was going to get them arrested. But the wheels were set in motion.

'I think I have an idea.' Keith raised an eyebrow, obviously surprised. 'You're going to think it's dumb. Which just makes the whole thing better.'


	10. All Hallows Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: *goes out with sundresses*  
> me: *enjoys iced lemonade under the sun*  
> me: *sniffs flowers*  
> me: i love spring  
> also me: *sticks a pointy had on my head and a twix in my mouth* time to write a halloween chapter... in april

**Today something happened. Something I never thought would happen here, in this school, in this town of all places.**

**A student was caught with drugs on campus.**

**The boy wasn't very popular, he didn't have fantastic grades, but he wasn't a troublemaker either. He was an assuming kid from Balmera, and I believe that if he had been from anywhere but there, he wouldn't be in so much trouble.**

**I just came home from spending almost two hours trying to get the truth out of him. Iverson, who was the one who brought him in, wanted to call the police. And while I know that was probably the right thing to do, I didn't want to turn him over to Sheriff Garrett. Instead, I sat with him and tried to get his version of the story. He didn't talk much, so I don't know what to think about the whole thing.**

**Tomorrow he'll be suspended. I suppose it's good that he's not being expelled.**

**I'm only sorry that I couldn't help him. The way he looked at me while I questioned him, he seemed like he wanted to tell me something. Truth be told, I wish he had said something. Now I simply cannot stop thinking about whether this is a separate issue or something that has been going on in this school without anyone noticing.**

**I will be speaking with the Sheriff, of course. But I don't plan on sitting in my office, waiting for things to fix themselves. I plan on doing some of my own investigating.**

**There are rumors that a tall man in dark clothing is lurking around town, trying to approach kids. I don't know if he has anything to do with this ordeal, or at least I can't be sure. The only thing I know is that he is the most suspicious one by far.**

A noise somewhere made her raise her eyes. She had given her students some exercises to do before class finished, but it was pretty obvious that not everyone was studying.

'Lance? Hunk? Katie?' She called, closing the diary and setting it away. The three teenagers turned to her, the guilty expressions of people who were up to no good. 'Can you please keep it quiet?'

'Sorry, sugar.' Said Lance, leaning back in his chair.

'Mr. McClain, call me sugar one more time and I'll fail you.'

'But that just means you'll have to deal with me for one more year!'

'...Carry on.'

She had been warned by the other teachers to watch out for Katie Holt. Apparently, she had the habit of playing a prank on the principal every Halloween, even though they never had enough proof to expel her for it. Iverson had spent the day locked in his office, not letting anyone in. Any attempt to contact him was viewed with suspicion. But Allura was starting to think he was paranoid. They were in the last period and nothing had happened yet.

Truth be told, she didn't care if the students blew up Iverson's car or something like that. He had always been terrible, and apparently becoming principal had only made his ego worse. 

The bell rang, and she followed her students to the hallway. Many had chosen to bring scary masks, and while the staff had prohibited any smelly bombs, there was a smell similar to rotten eggs in the air that made her cover her nose with her wrist, hoping the perfume she had applied that morning was still strong enough to mask the stench.

Thankfully, the air outside was fresh, carrying the smell of freshly cut grass and the sound of people laughing. Allura was yet to understand the appeal of Halloween. She had found it fun when she was young and dressed up, but after that much time, she simply saw it as another day of the year. She had started seeing many holidays that way after losing her father.

'Mind if I walk you to your car?' The sudden voice next to her almost made her jump. Almost.

'Lotor.' She said, narrowing her eyes at the tall man next to her. 'Do you find me dumb enough to actually get lost in a parking lot?'

'No. On the contrary.' He wasn't smiling, his tone almost seemed dead. She found it hard to say if he was mocking her, complimenting her or playing with her. It was infuriating. 'I'm just being polite.'

'Forgive my surprise.' She arched her eyebrows and started making her way down the steps that led to the school's parking lot. While a part of her knew she was wasting precious time talking to Lotor, she actually enjoyed their little discussions more than she would like to admit. Even though he was still a nuisance. 'Why the sudden interest in being polite? You've gained quite the reputation of someone who has their head stuck so far off their ass they can basically give themselves a colon exam.'

'And you're gaining quite the reputation as someone who is perhaps a little too committed to...' He trailed off. 'I'm sorry, why did you stalk me again?'

'It's personal.' She said, not really wanting to explain to Lotor that she was currently looking for her father's killer. Maybe the whole scene at The Druid had made him think she was insane, maybe not. 'Besides, I always considered my capacity to follow my goals no matter what one of my best qualities.'

'Sure. When it's not getting you into trouble.'

'Whatever trouble I get into is worth it.' Their conversation was somewhere in the blurry line that separated bickering from discussing, and she didn't know about him, but she meant every word. 

Allura sneaked a glance at Lotor's face, trying just to understand where he was trying to take this conversation. Understanding him was hard, understanding what he did was even harder. He seemed to either calculate every detail or completely improvise, and the more she thought about it, the more confused she got. In the awkward silence that had set, she felt like they were simply beating around the bush.

'So, what do you think of the book I... borrowed you?' The hesitant way he talked surprised her. But when she realized what he was talking about, she felt her whole being tightening, tensing up.

'It's very enlightening.' She said. If he was to talk in riddles, then so would she. 'And yet I can't see why you were so stubborn in not letting me have it for so long.'

'You still don't see it, do you?' Lotor's eyes narrowed, but Allura didn't give under his gaze. Instead, she stared back. 'I got to read a few pages of that book myself, Allura. It's not a light reading.'

So he had read it. He knew all of her father's secrets, he knew all about his investigation. So he probably knew what she was trying to find out.

'What is your interest in all of this?' She asked abruptly. Sure, she could play along with Lotor's games, but not for too long. His whole speech reeked of lies, and those were the last things she needed. 'I mean, you're a prissy boy from Drule. What are you even doing in Altea?'

'I'm a History teacher at Garrison High School.' He said, arching his eyebrows. 'Is it so bad that I want to make sure my co-worker is doing well?'

Allura groaned, opening her car's passenger door and throwing her things inside. What was she doing, wasting her time with Lotor Galra of all people? She was a busy woman, one who had a goal to get to. This bickering was unlike her, this delicate game of trying to say something without saying it.

Because he was saying something. He was telling her to stay away from whatever shady business he was trying to hide from her. Whether it was a warning or a threat, she didn't know, and she didn't care.

'I'm not going to stop.' Said Allura, slamming the door with a little too much strength. She balled up her fists and took a deep breath, reminding herself that she was a lady. Ladies didn't scream in school parking lots. Instead, she gave him an ice-cold stare. 'Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go.'

He didn't immediately leave after she got into her car, and while she drove away she still caught a glimpse of him in her rear-view mirror. And while she couldn't see his face, for a second she thought that she would pay to know what was on his mind.

She quickly shook that thought away and brought her attention back to the diary.

A suspicious man lurking around Altea. Her mind immediately went to the story Keith had told her that night, and she found herself biting her lip. Hard. If what she thought was true was, in fact, true, then she had a big problem ahead of her. But if she was wrong, then she was back at square one. 

Her grip on the steering wheel tightened. She had been furious with Keith at first for keeping such a huge secret. While they had never been the closest of friends, she had assumed they were at least close enough for him to tell her something like that. But now that she looked back, she didn't feel angry. She felt guilty. She felt stupid, a little princess too busy combing her hair in the top of her tower to notice the absolute mess that was under her. 

And now she was up against a shadow. Her best clue to finding out who had killed her father was a man who was more a shadow than anything else. She had no name for him, no face.

But she would find him. Even if it was the last thing she did.

* * *

Pidge had agreed to Lance's idea because she had a bone to pick with Altea's police department. Hunk had agreed because he didn't want his best friends to get arrested.

He sighed as he stuffed the last thing he needed into his duffel bag. The sudden change of plans had been... well, sudden. They had been pretty set on attaching every single of Iverson's belongings to the ceiling using screws and bolts, and Hunk had thought himself very lucky when he had dissuaded Pidge from somehow attaching the desk too. 

So when Lance had suggested a bigger prank, and on the precinct of all places, Hunk had felt himself having a heart attack. He had been sitting next to his father when he had gotten the text, and he had had to rush to the bathroom to try and cover up how much he was freaking out. But Lance had ignored his pleading. For some reason, he had been adamant about changing the plan.

At least he had been helpful. After Hunk had begrudgingly agreed to draw him a layout of the precinct, Lance had been only ideas for possible things they could do. He had even scribbled each of them a list of things they had to do.

Hunk went over his own list, trying to gulp down the knot on his throat. There was a knock on the front door, and soon he heard his mother calling him.

'Hunk, it's Katie!' Hunk threw his duffel bag over his shoulder, hoping his mother wouldn't notice it. Unfortunately, he wasn't so lucky. 'Where are you going?'

'Uh, nowhere.' With his mind running twenty miles per hour, Hunk cracked what he hoped was a confident smile. 'My friends and I are going down to the basketball court to... shoot some hoops.'

He had never said "shoot some hoops" before, and he doubted anyone needed a full duffel bag to play basketball. But his mother just smiled at him.

'Well, tell them I said hi. And take a water bottle with you.'

'Thanks, mom.' He was halfway to the door when he turned. 'Hey... is Dad taking the night shift today?'

'Oh, don't worry, I'm sure he'll be home in time to watch a scary movie.'

Pidge was waiting for him, one of her legs thrown over her bike, a grin on her face. She had a similar duffel bag laid at her feet, and Hunk wondered if it would be possible for someone so small to carry that much weight to Lance's house and then back to the precinct.

'Sure that bag won't crush you?' He asked, grabbing his own bike.

'Sure that you won't have a heart attack as soon as we get there?'

'Oh, shut it.'

They biked to Lance's house, which Hunk still thought looked creepy, even with all the effort the McClains had put into making it a nice place. Sure, the swing they had hung on a tree and the hammock on the front porch made it seem like a cozy place, but the house still retained a lot of its severity. Plus, that chain-link fence still made it look like a prison.

Lance was waiting on the front lawn, alone, even though Hunk could almost swear he seemed to be talking to someone before noticing they were there.

'Hey, guys.' He said. 'You're early.'

'What, you want to leave exactly at sundown?' Asked Pidge, rolling her eyes. 

'Honestly, Lance, I never thought I would see you worried about punctuality.' Hunk shook his head, slightly amused besides his anxiety. 'I mean, you did show up half an hour late to class last week with a coffee and sunglasses.'

'Oh, you know...' Lance's eyes trailed off to the sky. The sun was now behind the houses, impossible to see, and the sky had taken a slightly violet shade. 'Just trying to do this right.'

'Whatever, let's go.' Groaned Pidge. Lance got on his bike slowly, making lots of small talk. Hunk didn't mind, really. It helped him ease his nerves, something he really needed. Especially now that the sun had set. He felt a strange chill, as if he was walking right next to an AC turned up to the max. 

As soon as the sky darkened, little children flooded the streets. The three of them made their way around the mob, smiling fondly as they remembered dressing up themselves. 

The precinct was in the town square, right next to the old clock tower that had stopped working decades ago and was now locked up. Hunk spent a lot of time on the town square, either visiting his father or working at Sal's Diner on the other side. He was used to the clean facades and flowerbeds. The town square was a lovely space, especially during springtime. But now, during the fall, with the icy breeze that swept Altea and the cold sweat on his palms, it felt a little less lovely.

They hid their bikes in an alleyway next to the precinct. Hunk rubbed his hands against his jeans, hoping the others wouldn't notice how nervous he was. Lance gave him a thumbs up, and the only reason it calmed Hunk was because he saw that a part of him was nervous too.

With his bag thrown over one shoulder, he walked into the precinct, hoping he looked natural and calm. Pidge and Lance had already sent him there to get the lights ready for the big day, and since he had practically grown there, no one suspected him. A few officers smiled, recognizing him, and one of them told him that his father was out on patrol. The sheriff's office was only a few feet away, just as empty as he needed it to be. He started making his way towards it and was already through the threshold when someone stopped him.

'What are you doing here?' Asked a voice behind him.

Hunk groaned, rolling his eyes. Officer Varkon was a recent transfer from Drule, and in what regarded security he was about as good as a mall cop. He could easily sit behind a stolen car in a drive-through, but he was always suspicious of teenagers. And since he had been transferred just in time to witness one of Pidge's fits of rage at the police, he suspected her the most, and Hunk by association. He didn't seem to care that Hunk's father was his boss.

'I'm just visiting my dad.' He said, trying to sound as innocent as possible.

Varkon narrowed his eyes and took a sip from his coffee mug.

'Suspicious.'

'It's not. It's really not.' He looked across the bullpen and then to his clock. This thing had to be timed perfectly, and he couldn't really prepare with Varkon just standing there. 'Look, I'll just sit in my dad's office with the blinds and door close. I won't touch anything.'

'Oh, you teenagers are all lies.' He shook his head. 'I learned all about it during my time in Drule.'

Hunk groaned, fearing another sermon about how teenagers were sex-crazed party animals. He didn't know how things were in Drule, but the craziest thing he had ever seen in a party in Altea was someone trying to jump from a balcony into a pool but miscalculating and ending up with a broken leg. 

'Look!' He screamed, pointing to the other side of the bullpen. It was the oldest trick in history, but it worked. As soon as Varkon turned around, Hunk slammed the door closed and locked the door, dropping his duffel bag to the ground and slouching against a wall. His phone buzzed in his pocket as Pidge told him they would soon be ready. He sighed as he opened his bag and started putting on the clothes he had packed

It was a dumb idea. It was the dumbest idea they had ever had. He checked his phone once again, feeling his stomach drop as he realized it was time. Gathering every brave fiber in his being, Hunk pulled the mask over his face.

He held his breath and counted to three. 

One.

He unlocked the door.

Two.

No turning back now.

Three.

And the lights went down.

There was a heavy second where everybody just stood in shock, trying to find where they were in the dark. Just as the police officers were beginning to move again, he heard the sound that signaled the attack would begin. A loud thud, and then a voice.

'Y'all ready for this?!' Screamed Lance, kicking the front door open. Pidge appeared from behind him, rolling a couple of smoke bombs into the bullpen. The lights that Hunk had previously set started flashing in vibrant shades of blue, red, green and purple, making the precinct look like a strange dancefloor. Hunk locked eyes with his friends, all wearing the same dark flowing capes and Darth Vader masks. The glow sticks in their hands completed the look.

While he had to admit they looked stupid, he also had to admit he felt cool.

The police officers could only look, confused, as they watched three teenagers with glowsticks and capes run across the bullpen, all singing the Space Jam tune on the top of their lungs. 

He dodged just in time to stop someone from grabbing his cape, and a laugh gurgled in his throat. The anxiety of being caught was still there, but he was suddenly reminded why he played along with the hijinks: he liked it. He liked feeling like a complete fool. He liked being a stupid teenager.

A press against his back made him turn. Pidge was standing behind him, brandishing her green glow stick like it was a sword, the glow reflected on the black eyes of her mask.

'There is no escape!' Boomed her voice, distorted by the mask. 'Don't make me destroy you. Luke, you do not yet realize your importance. You’ve only begun to discover your power! Join me, and I will complete your training! With our combined strength, we can end this destructive conflict, and bring order to the galaxy.'

Hunk raised his own glow stick, feeling a smile pull at the corners of his mouth.

'If only you knew the power of the Dark Side. Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your father.'

'I am your father.'

'No, _I_ am your father.'

' _No_ , I am your father.'

The glow sticks met, green against yellow (they had, unfortunately, forgotten about buying red ones), to the clatter of the sound effects they were making themselves, whispering "swoosh" under their breaths. Friend against friend, Darth Vader against Darth Vader. A fight to the death. 

He jumped back as Pidge made a daring move forward, almost grazing his side. But before she could truly attack, he hooked his glow stick under her wrist and flipped it upwards, making her makeshift light saber fly away from her. She threw her hands up in defeat and took off her mask.

'It seems like I am the superior Sith Lord, Holt.' He laughed, taking off his own mask. Pidge was in the middle of a laugh, but stopped halfways. 'What?

She pointed to somewhere behind him, but Hunk didn't move. He was now aware that someone had turned on the lights, and everyone was watching them with smiles on their faces. Not because they were amused with their little stunt. They were smiled of anticipation.

Suddenly, a hand clasped around his shoulder.

'Hunk.' His father's voice sounded both parts angry and confused. 'Do you mind telling me what's going on?'

* * *

Lance slid along a wall, sneaking past two cops who were rushing to the commotion on the bullpen. For a second, he thought he had seen one of them look in his direction, and his heart had jumped in his chest like someone had given it a shock, but a few seconds passed and no one had stopped him, so he let himself breathe freely again.

Keith was waiting, leaning against a wall, and Lance envied his invisibility for the first time. He could simply sit back and watch them all losing their minds without having to worry. When he saw Lance approaching, he nodded. If Lance wasn't wrong, he seemed a bit impressed with the whole thing they had pulled off.

'Your friends are crazy.' Commented Keith, shaking his head.

'I know.' Lance glanced back at Hunk and Pidge, who were pretending to fight using glowsticks as lightsabers. Despite everything, he smiled. 'Let's go.'

He had convinced Hunk to draw him a layout of the building under the excuse that he needed to know what they were getting themselves into. He pulled the drawing from his pocket and went into the hallway that led to the evidence room, Keith hot on his tracks. 

He hadn't actually believed they would do the heist until he was well into the town square with Keith still be his side. He had been silent the whole way to the police station, looking around like he had never in Altea before. Lance had made an effort to ignore him and act natural, but he still caught himself looking at Keith sometimes, just to make sure that he was still there. 

The files room was a small, cramped space with metallic shelves that went up to the ceiling. A heavy smell hung in the air, the smell of old paper and poor ventilation. Lance reached for his phone and turned on the flashlight, sweeping a ray of light over the dossiers filling the shelves. Keith glided across one of the hallways made by the shelves, looking for any mention of his name.

'It has to be somewhere here.' Said Keith. Lance reached for a random dossier. He opened it, but the files were only about stolen bicycles. Altea was truly a calm town.

'Nothing.' He said, shrugging. 'Maybe we should split up.' 

Keith shrugged, making his way to the opposite side of the room.

Lance walked with slow steps, careful to shine his flashlight on every label. He didn't know what to look for, but he thought that Altea's police department would be careful with the information regarding the most scandalous case they had ever dealt with.

And then he saw it. A file named "K. Kogane".

'Found it!' Keith rushed to his side. He hurried to take it out of the shelf, flipping through the pages. They were details regarding the case, and the whole thing was filled with pictures of the crime scene. When he stumbled upon a picture of Keith's body, he thought about hiding it, but it was too late. Keith had seen it.

'Is that my...' His face was somber, eyebrows pursed together. The teenager on the photograph was lying with his arms open, face towards the camera. His eyes were open, dark and unseeing, and his hands lied in a strange position, like he was grasping for something. Lance averted his eyes, pulling out his phone instead.

'For the records, not the pictures.' He clarified. The file had a few testimonies from neighbors and even a few interrogations. He took a picture of each page, put the dossier back in place and did the same for Keith's father's files. He was standing up when Keith pointed to a cardboard box that he had first missed.

'My name's on that too.' He said. 'Probably the evidence.'

Lance looked at the door, biting his lip. He had slipped out of the bullpen while Hunk and Pidge were distracting everybody, but he doubted everyone would just stand there watching for much longer.

'I don't know, man...'

'I'll warn you if someone comes.' Keith, stubborn as always, flipped his wrist and made the box slitter forward. 'It'll be quick.'

Lance groaned, mumbling about how much of a show-off he was, but he kneeled down and opened the box.

All the evidence was kept in bags, which Lance hurried to take out. Most of them contained Keith's clothes, still dirty with old blood. The stains had taken a rusty brown color, but Lance still felt his stomach turn uncomfortably. He quickly put them away and searched for other things in the box.

'Hold on...' He scattered everything that he had found in the box, brows furrowed. 'There's stuff missing here.'

'My knife.' Said Keith immediately. 'It's... it's not here.'

'Yeah, but your phone's not here too.' He pointed to all the bags. 'What teenager leaves the house without their cellphone? This box contains everything that was found on your person when you died. So where is it?'

'Well, I did have that fight the night that I died.' Keith's eyes seem to unfocus, and Lance felt once again like he wasn't being paid attention. He hated that feeling. 'Maybe they took it?'

'But why?' 

Keith was about to say something when they heard it. The unmistakable sound of a doorknob turning and a door creaking. Lance sprinted to his feet as he saw a gap of light on the floor ahead of him.

'Anybody in here?' Asked a rough voice, opening the door further. Lance had barely any time to hide before the officer came into the room.

He slid between the last shelf and the wall, feeling the rough concrete scratch his back. The space between the shelf and the wall was so thin that he only fit if holding his breath and keeping infuriatingly still. Which he was starting to find impossible, since every nerve in his body begged him to move, run, find a way to get out.

Risking a quick glance, he saw a fat police officer looking at the mess he had made on the floor, picking up the bags that Lance had left scattered around.

'Shit.' He whispered before he could stop himself. The officer's head shot up, alarmed.

'Who is here?!' The man turned around, looking for the source of the sound.

Lance closed his eyes shut, trying to focus on his breathing instead of listening to the sound of the cheap rubber sole shoes coming his way. With each step, his chest seemed to become tighter. He clasped a hand over his mouth and nose, hoping that would mask his anxious breathing. Instead, it only seemed to make the sound stronger. 

He peeked from behind his closed eyelids. The police officer was right next to him, with his back turned. He knew that in a few seconds he would see him and Lance would be dragged off. Playing a prank was one thing, but going through the files of a murder case was something completely different. Lance was in deep shit. 

He had almost forgotten Keith when he heard the crash. The whole shelf shook as dozens of dossiers fell from above, almost burying the officer.

Lance didn't wait. He slid away from the wall and started running, heart beating like a drum against his ears. Keith was right to the door, an arm still raised, and Lance knew that he had him to thank. Not that he would, of course. 

'Let's go.' He said, voice raspy and out of breath. 'I do not want to spend another second in this precinct.' 

* * *

It had been a lot of time since he had felt so... alive.

It had taken him a long time to understand that he could actually leave the house on Halloween. It had taken him even longer to get the whole thing's logics understood. So this was the first time in 6 years that he went as far as the town square. As Lance hurried to the alley where his bike was hidden, Keith resisted the urge to look around, but he still saw that things hadn't really changed, except for small details. The sign over Sal's Diner had changed, and the showcase of the small pawnshop hidden in a corner seemed emptier now.

'I can't believe we did it!' Lance had a smile that took his whole face. 'What do you think it's in these files?'

'I'm not sure.' Keith was only half-listening, more concentrated on the houses that lined the street. It was so odd how he had barely looked at them when he was alive, but now he wanted to take in every detail. 

A thing he had noticed was that the street was much emptier. There were no trick or treaters, and no lights on any window, either. Not even the crickets dared to sing, so the cold air was static and silent. And yet, Keith didn't feel uncomfortable. This was their first big victory. They had dared to face an entire police squad and walked out unscathed. 

'You know what?' He turned his head to Lance, that big smile of his still plastered on his face, his eyes turned to the stars. 'I think we actually have a shot at this. We're a good team.'

'Yeah.'

Lance shook his head and gave him a suddenly stern look. 

'But that doesn't mean that we're friends.' Keith groaned. There they went again. 'If it wasn't for my great mediator skills, you would still be sulking around like the cheap poltergeist you are. I was also the one who got you to have that flashback _and_ I designed the plan for the heist.' He opened his arms. '10 points for Lancindor!'

'Lancindor?' Asked Keith, muffling a chuckle.

'It's a mixture of Lance and Gryffindor.'

'Yeah, well, I'm kind of the one who actually knows stuff here.' Keith rolled his eyes. 'And I'm the one with the powers, so...'

'Oooh, look at me, I'm Keith! With my ability to lift tiny things without touching them and my weird ass mullet, I am unstoppable!'

'Laugh all you want, but I kind of just saved your life.' Said Keith, smiling. He expected Lance to give him a half-assed comeback, but instead, he blinked at him, an expression of confusion so genuine Keith honestly couldn't tell whether he had actually not understood or was just a really good actor.

'Kogane, I have no idea of what you're talking about.'

'I threw those files over that police officer!' Lance's face remained blank. 'I know you're faking it! Admit it, I saved your ass!'

'This beautiful ass of mine has always been very safe.' Lance shrugged, his shoulder hiding the bottom of his face for a second, but Keith could swear that there was a slight smile there. 'I was simply very lucky that the officer accidentally bumped against a shelf.'

They stopped in front of the house, and Keith had a sore reminder that the night was coming to an end. He closed his eyes, blocking out the chain link fence and bringing back the pretty storefronts in the center of town, the gleeful children in vampire costumes, the manicured lawns. All the things that made Altea just like any other small town and yet seemed unique and special now that he had been denied it for so long.

He wondered how close midnight was. He felt like a Cinderella who hadn't even danced with the prince.

There was still something missing. He had seen Altea, but not his Altea. The Altea that was nothing but a blur of color and movement as he sped through it, fast as if he was running away from a monster. A quick flash on a red motorcycle.

'Hey, Lance?' He hoped he didn't sound as pathetic as he felt. 'Can I ask one last favor? Just before the night is over?'

A few minutes later, they were standing in the middle of the road, Lance shifting uncomfortably on top of Keith's motorcycle. Keith quickly told him where to put his hands and feet and how to start up the engine. Despite his clearly panicked expression, Keith had to admit that Lance was kind of a natural.

'Are you sure you want to do this?' He asked. Keith sneaked a glance at Lance's watch. The watch hands were tickling dangerously near midnight.

'It's just until we reach the end of the street.' He perched on the back of the motorcycle, careful not to touch Lance, and started wondering whether this was really a good idea. It felt uncomfortable, not being the one to drive. But while it wasn't the same thing, he welcomed seeing the motorcycle's red surface glistening under the street lamps again. When Lance turned on the engine, he could swear hearing the purring sound was just like hearing his favorite song, a song he hadn't listened for a long time.

He saw Lance's shoulders rise as he took a deep breath. And then they were off.

Even after all that time, he felt the adrenaline kick in. Lance drove a lot slower than he did, but they were still going fast enough to make the wind like a whip against them. There was a sound in the wind, a voice howling like a wolf, and Keith took a moment to realize that it was Lance, head thrown back. Just as Keith had thought, he seemed like he had been born on a motorcycle. 

'Holy hell!' He screamed once they reached the end of the street. 'That was amazing!'

'Yeah, I missed that.' He said, before closing his mouth shut. He couldn't forget that Lance wasn't his friend or his confidant. Sure, they laughed together sometimes. But Keith would have to be insane to go and tell Lance about how lonely and desperate he felt. And he knew that Lance would never tell him why he woke up in a cold sweat sometimes. There were lines that they weren't supposed to cross.

'Wanna go again?' Asked Lance, eyes shining with enthusiasm. Keith fought against a smile.

'Sure, but don't think I'm giving you permission to go around on my motorcycle.' He said. 'This is a one-time thing exclusively.'

They went slower this time since someone in the house in front of theirs had turned on a light. He gave the window an uninterested look, knowing that whoever was watching them would not be able to see him. But when he saw the faces that showed up, his heart sank.

Allura looked just like her high school self, but he was different. Keith could barely catch a glimpse of his face as they rushed past them, but his hair looked different, with a white streak on the front. And maybe it was just a blur, but Keith could almost swear he had a scar running across his nose.

He opened his mouth to ask Lance to slow down, go back, let him have just one more moment, but his words got lost in the wind. He reached for Lance's shoulder, making him jump in his seat, but panic filled him up. Instantly, he knew. It was time. 

Inside, he wanted to fight it. He wanted to stay. So he closed his eyes and balled up his fists, digging his nails into his palms, and thought about every little detail of Altea, every pastel-colored building and smiling children. He thought about the streetlamps and walking down the quiet street next to Lance and wished he could enjoy one more minute, one more second.

But when he opened his eyes, he was in the attic again.

'Damn it!' He screamed. He tried kicking something, anything, but his foot simply went through the desk, which only frustrated him even further. Instead of kicking, he dragged a chair across the floor and made it fall loudly, not even caring if anyone woke up.

He dragged himself to the skylight, looking down. Lance had stopped the motorcycle in front of the house, noticing he was gone, but his stupid grin hadn't faded yet. Keith straightened his spine and turned around, not wanting to look at him. No matter how much they bickered, nothing changed. Lance was still a boy with a beating heart and a bubbling life. If he wanted, he could take the motorcycle and drive off into the night and only come back at dawn, like Keith had once done. He could never understand what it felt like, to have something missing so bad that it ached.

_Lines that we don't cross._ Thought Keith as he heard the garage door opening. _Things that we don't say to each other._

* * *

 

'It's just a high schooler.' Sighed Allura, slumping down on the couch again and burying her hand in the popcorn bowl. 'Although, he shouldn't be using that motorcycle. It's kind of a lack of tact.'

Shiro simply nodded, sitting down next to her. 

When Allura had invited him for a marathon of scary movies, he had been hesitant. In fact, he had refused to come through the front door. He had entered through the back porch, making a point not even to raise his eyes, in case he would catch a glimpse of the house. Like Keith could be waiting there for him.

It had been a cold, silent watching. Shiro was too tense to enjoy the movie, and Allura seemed too distracted to notice anything. Neither of them was watching the movie, but they weren't talking either. He now realized that after all that time, there were many things they had to avoid, they were each handling burdens too heavy to share with each other. Sadly, things couldn't really be just like they used to. 

Well, there was one thing that was still the same. The way Keith's motorcycle roared when the engine was turned on.

He had recognized the sound immediately. And suddenly he was a teenager again, a boy who had never gone off to any war or suffered any wounds, and Altea was still great and pure Altea.

It had taken the howling sound for him to realize that Keith wasn't magically back.

'I think I know the kid who was driving.' He said, pressing play on the remote control again. On the screen, a girl was opening up a trapdoor leading to a hidden basement and was too busy going down the dark steps alone to notice the freaky music playing that announced she would soon be devoured by a demon or monster or some sort. 'He goes to Garrison.'

Seeing Lance on Keith's motorcycle had been strange. Especially since he was pretty sure Lance had been wearing a cape.

But the stranges part was that something had felt odd. He had stared at him and had felt like someone was staring back, even though Lance had his eyes fixed on the road.

The music on the movie came to an annoying pitch as the girl reached the end of the staircase and a demon lunged towards her. The sound, similar to nails running across a blackboard, made Shiro flinch and grit his teeth together, but it wasn't just that.

Something didn't feel right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this took forever. This chapter was a pain in the ass to write, but at least I finished it.  
> Also, this fic has been going on for a month and I've written 10 chapters already? I'm kind of proud of myself. Go me.  
> Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed it! As always, you've all been lovely and supportive, and I can't wait to give you more of this fanfic.


	11. Lake Bakku

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I came from updating from two times a week to only one. But I'm afraid it will continue like this for a while since I have tests, exams, classes, and all that jazz. But don't worry, I'm not done with this fic yet.  
> As always, I would like to thank anyone who's reading for giving this fic love, you are all my inspiration. Cheer, and enjoy the chapter!

It had all been the fault of a kid Lance had never traded more than a few words with.

And Hunk. It had been Hunk's fault too.

'I swear that if I read one more word in old English I am going to kill myself.' Groaned Lance, throwing his script. 'Shakespeare can suck thy dick!'

'I don't think you understand what thy means.' Sighed Pidge, shaking her head. 

They were sitting in the back row, eyes fixed on the stage as Hunk and Shay stuttered through their lines. They were both good actors, actually, but as soon as you put them on a stage together they seemed to forget the basic motions behind talking. 

Things had been slow at rehearsal. Well, at least for Lance. He had trained a few scenes with Hunk, but Plaxum seemed to be mysteriously late, so they hadn't been able to rehearse any of his scenes with Beatrice. Every five minutes or so, he eyed the door, expecting her to come in with an excuse. Eventually, she did.

'I'm really sorry, guys, but there was an emergency.' She said, sitting down next to Pidge. 'You guys know Swirn, from the swimming team? Well, we were having PE class when he tripped and sprained his ankle. I just spent half an hour with him in the infirmary.'

_This is it, Lance._ He thought. _A good chance to say something cool and impress your crush._

'Man.' He said, shaking his head. 'That sucks.'

_Nailed it._

'And the worst part?' She sighed, running her hands over her face. 'We're supposed to have a competition in two weeks and now we're one member short. And everyone is freaking out because we're gonna have to host emergency tryouts as soon as possible. And I suppose you guys wouldn't know any experienced swimmers, would you?'

'Lance was on the swim team at his old school.' Said Hunk, choosing the worst possible moment to pop up. Lance hadn't even realized he had stepped down from the stage.

'Really?' Asked Plaxum, eyes shining with relief.

'Uh... yeah, I give a few strokes sometimes.' Lance put his arms behind his head, doing his best to seem like he wasn't lying. He hadn't set foot in a pool ever since the summer. Hell, he hadn't taken a shower that lasted longer than five minutes. 'But I don't think I'm good enough, I mean...'

'Dude, I've been to your house and your mom has like, dozens of your medals hanging on the living room wall.' He leaned in closer to Plaxum. 'Gold medals. I've never seen him swim, but I bet he's amazing.'

For the first time ever, Lance cursed Hunk for being so nice. And for suddenly becoming such a good wingman. 

'Lance, why didn't you go to tryouts in September?' Plaxum was staring at him like she had never seen him before, and that was the beginning of his whole problem.

'Ah, you know. Didn't want to blow the whole school away.' He said, regretting every word that came out of his mouth. But it wasn't like he could simply tell them the real reason. The painful, horrible reason. And before he knew it, he was agreeing to do a few laps to show the coach if he was any good.

'I'll talk to Coach Luxia and see when you can drop by.' She smiled, but somehow he felt like it wasn't quite worth it. Lance wasn't sure he liked this girl enough to go out and face his biggest fear for her. 

The trouble was, he had already promised.

Hunk and Pidge were excited for him. Of course they were. Not only he had a chance to show what was probably his biggest talent, he also got to spend more time with his crush. They thought he would be ecstatic and brag about it all the time, so he did. But inside, he was screaming.

He hadn't told his friends about what had happened to his father. He thought they had probably assumed his parents had simply divorced. In fact, his family was the only ones in Altea who knew exactly why they had moved in the first place. And Lance had spent a considerable amount of time trying to convince them that no, he was not permanently scarred. Telling them that he was too scared to get in the water, his element basically since birth, would be admitting defeat. So who could he turn to?

He found Shiro in his office, like he expected he would. Even though they had schedules appointments, he had told Lance that he was welcome to swing by whenever he needed. Lance liked Shiro, but he avoided his office like the plague. So the look of surprise Shiro gave when he saw him barge in was understandable.

'Hello, Lance.' He said. 'Did you have a good Halloween?'

'Yeah, uh, listen, I have a problem and I really need some advice.' He cleaned his throat and twisted his hands together, not really knowing how to get the conversation going. 'So, I guess you know why my mom insisted that I should have these appointments... you know... the _thing_?' Shiro nodded. 'Well, I kind of just agreed to go to the swimming team's tryouts. And I'm panicking because I haven't swum in months and I'm honestly not sure if I'm ready.'

Shiro blinked against the current of his fast words, but he quickly regained his ground.

'Well, that's... complicated.' He shook his head. 'Lance, if you're not ready, then you're not ready. I don't want you to push yourself to an uncomfortable edge, and simply jumping into a pool after all this time may do more harm than good. I think you should start slow, and only when you're ready.'

'I know, but I just don't feel comfortable training in the pool in front of everybody.' He sighed. 'I don't want people watching me.'

Shiro licked his lips nervously, deep in thought.

'Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?' He asked. 

'I've been swimming my whole life.' Said Lance, hoping he didn't look as pathetic as he felt. 'I want to do this. I... I want to get on the water again.'

'There's this place just outside of town. Lake Bakku. I used to go there with a friend as a teenager.' Shiro was hesitant, eyes fixed on Lance, looking for any red flags. 'It's pretty quiet, only a bus that passes occasionally. But I don't want you to go alone.'

'Don't worry.' He said, smiling. 'I'll bring a friend.'

He didn't. In fact, he didn't even dare to tell anyone where he was going after school.

He knew that Pidge and Hunk were the most trustworthy friends he could possibly ask for. If he told them something was a secret, then they would take it to their graves. But this wasn't a matter of privacy, it was a matter of respect. He knew that if they saw how much of a coward he was they would never look at him the same. He would stop being Lance, goofball and overall really nice guy to be around. He would be that other person, that disgusting boy that made him feel sick.

That day he finished his classes before Marco and Veronica did. Alicia was at work, the kids were still in kindergarten and nursery, and Luis and Mom were off running errands. With the house all for himself, he emptied his backpack and filled it with his swimming suit and a towel. He looked around, half-heartedly expecting to see Keith. If anything, he never failed to annoy Lance and make him do things out of spite.

He sat on the back of the bus, hood pulled over his eyes, backpack between his knees. 

So he was doing it. He was facing his fears. 

The last time he had been underwater, salt had filled his lungs and the waves had threatened to snap him in half like a twig. And now, even though he was on dry land, he still felt like he could snap in any moment. He would be alone in that lake, no family, no friends. Hell, no Keith. For the first time in months, he would not have to pretend to be anything but the scared teenage boy he was.

And somehow that scared him even more.

'What is a good kid like you doing here all by himself?' Asked the bus driver as he saw him step down in a deserted bus stop outside of town. 'It's getting dark. Aren't you scared?'

'Don't worry, sir.' Said Lance, clutching his backpack. 'I'll be alright.'

He sincerely doubted his own words.

As the bus drove away, Lance ventured across the bushes until he was safe that no one could see him. He quickly changed from his normal clothes to his bathing suit, and his backpack and towel behind a rock.

And there he stood, on the lakeshore, feeling the small rocks shift under his weight, and watched the water. Lake Bakku was small, but incredibly beautiful. The calm waters stretched in front of him, undisturbed, while tall trees rose around it, sending long shadows across the ground. The sun was already behind them, and Lance's skin rose up in goosebumps as his jackets slid to the ground. 

Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to go for a swim in November, but he had already come this far. 

The water was bone-crushing cold, but nevertheless, he continued. It reached his ankles, his knees, and finally his hips. 

He simply stood there, trembling, hands under his arms as to not touch the water. Even though he hadn't even dived yet, he felt like he was being pushed down. Slowly, he let his fingers fall. And just when he thought maybe that was enough, he could go back, he raised his feet and let his body topple. 

He had almost forgotten what it felt like, to be underwater. How silent it was, how quiet. How dark. He opened his eyes slightly, seeing only dirt dancing around him, and realized that anything could be hiding in those waters. He realized that his hands were trembling, and so were his legs. He moved clumsily, feeling his limbs tangle in each other, and cold panic washed over him. He couldn't swim. He couldn't do anything.

For a second, he feared that was it. He was going to drown in hip-deep water, frozen and scared, probably to be forgotten. How long would it take for his family to notice he was gone? Would anyone even come looking for him? Would anyone even care?

Gathering all his strength, Lance set his feet on the ground and pushed himself up, breaking the water's surface with a scream. 

He felt sick. Scrambling to leave the water, he fell to his knees as soon as he was on dry land and let his breath come in gasping, scared sounds. His wet hair clung to the sides of his face like ropes. 

Lance had thought many times about how it would be to put his fear aside. Ever since the summer, he tried to imagine an older version of himself, tall and muscular, swimming with broad strokes. But he didn't feel any strength or confidence. He just felt like a failure. All his life, Lance had never been the most anything of his siblings. Luis was the responsible one, the golden boy who his parents could always count on. Veronica was the funny one, the social butterfly who was inherently good at anything she did. And Marco was the smart and talented one, a smaller version of Luis.

Lance? Lance was good at swimming. but now he didn't even have that. He was just the asshole who had screwed up everything for everybody. 

He gathered his things, wrapping himself in his towel, and started his way around the lake and to the bus stop.

How much more of this could he endure, the nightmares and the fears? What was even the point of a swimmer who couldn't swim, a son who couldn't bring joy to his family, a brother who couldn't sit beside his siblings without feeling like a burden? 

Checking his phone, he realized that he still had a lot of time to burn before a new bus passed by the lake. He couldn't swim, but he couldn't stand either. So instead, he walked along the lake's shore. 

It was November, and the cold was biting. Lance understood this as he put his clothes back, clutching his jacket closer to his body. But he couldn't help but wonder what it would look like during the summer, with the sun blasting over it. If the empty beer cans scattered on the ground were any clue, he could tell this was a place teenagers liked to go to. But it could also be good for families.

_I'll keep training._ He told himself, eyes fixed on the water. _I'll get better, and when the summer comes I'll teach Julia how to swim in this lake. And someday everything will be alright. Everything has to be alright._

He breathed in the cool air, the musky smell of the trees surrounding him, and repeated the words like a mantra. 

The sight of trees stretching their shadows over water was beautiful, but after a while it became tiring. Lance strolled along the water's edge until it became dark, but the clock told him he still had time before having to catch the bus. 

And that was when he saw the shack. 

Well, he didn't see it first. The first thing he saw was the rock, a big boulder that blocked the path of anyone who tried to walk around the whole lake. It was placed exactly on the middle of the path, and it seemed impossible to cross. At least that was what Lance thought, until his eyes caught a shadow that seemed deeper than the others, a long gap running from the top of the rock to the ground. 

Curious, he placed his hand in the gap and found that it was actually quite a wide space. He could even fit his whole body in there, which he actually did. The darkness engulfed him, but only for a few moments. He slid to the side and found himself on a small bay, a place easily hid and hard to see from anywhere else on the shore. The ground there looked cleaner, no empty beer cans or candy wrappers, like the rest of the lake. There was something pristine about it, like no one had ever been there before.

However, he soon realized that wasn't true. 

For some reason, someone had built a shack against the rock, a skeletal construction of decrepit wood that seemed to be on the risk of falling apart if the wind blew too strongly. The windows were opaque with dirt, leaving anyone who tried to look from outside clueless about what was hidden inside. When Lance tried to open the door, he found it locked.

Strange. 

He tried to open the door for a little more time, but in the end, he just gave up and slid back to the other side of the lake. His visit to Lake Bakku had simply raised more worries and questions that he wanted, and he had left with none of the sense of accomplishment that he had come there looking for. In fact, he felt the exact opposite, like he was supposed to be adding one more one but as unable to make the sum.

Who in their right mind would build a shack hidden in the quietest and most secret corner of a lake? Why did it bother him so much, anyway? Why did he feel as if there was something on that lake that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

As two twin headlights made their way down the road, Lance turned around one last time to look at Lake Bakku, and that's when it hit him.

The water. The tall trees. The strong smell of evergreen.

'Holy shit.' He muttered. 'I have to get home.'

* * *

It had been six years since Allura had been on a police station.

She had avoided those places like the plague ever since she had been called into questioning as a teenager. The memory of Altea's precinct was so vivid in her mind that she couldn't help but imagine that every single one was like that. 

So Drule's police station was no surprise.

It was bigger than Altea's precinct, but it still looked a lot like it. If anything, it looked worse. Everyone she saw seemed exhausted, tired but determined eyes almost drowning in dark circles, hands clutching coffee mugs like their lives depended on it. A section of a far-off wall was covered in photographs of police officers in uniforms, and as she approached it she understood that it was for officer's killed on the job.

A shiver ran up her spine. She was aware that Drule had a bigger crime rate than Altea, but the portraits on the wall were still... shocking. She remembered an article she had read only that morning about someone getting caught in the crossfire between a gang.

'Miss Altea?' She turned around. The man behind her had a stern, square-jawed face and white hair. He extended her a hand, which she shook. 'I'm Captain Kolivan, from Drule PD. We talked on the phone. Please follow me.'

'What is this about?' She asked, following Kolivan to a hallway.

She had gotten the call only the day before, requesting her to come to Drule to answer a few questions about the morning she had found Keith's body. The call had disturbed her, but she knew she had no choice but to go. 

Kolivan opened a door and gestured for her to get in. She was already three feet into the room when she understood what it was. The single metal table, the two lonesome chairs, the one-way mirror on one of the walls.

She was in an interrogation room. 

'Do not worry.' Said Kolivan, gesturing for her to take a seat. 'I simply thought this would be the best place to ask questions.'

'I honestly don't know what is there to ask about.' She sat slowly, all while maintaining eye contact. He didn't flinch, but neither did she. 'I thought the case was closed.'

'And it is. But since we discovered that you came back to Altea, we would like to set some things straight.' His tone of voice was clear and loud, and something told her that they were being recorded. Maybe even filmed. What he said next confirmed her suspicions. 'I watched the tape from your interrogation six years ago.'

'Well, I'm afraid I can't tell you much more than what I said back then.' She said, measuring her words carefully. 'Plus, I believe you already have all the information you need, right, Captain?'

Kolivan narrowed his eyes as if that would make her easier to read. Allura simply lifted her chin, enduring his stare.

He knew. He knew she had lied.

Allura was no fool, and she had never been. Even as a teenager, she had known the dangers of lying to the police. She knew she could get charged with obstruction of justice or some other related crime. And while Allura hated lying, she could see that maybe she would have to tell some things that weren't... necessarily true.

'Let's start.' Kolivan pulled a chair and sat down in front of her. 'Were you close with Keith Kogane?'

'Not necessarily.' She said. 'We hanged out occasionally, but we met mostly through friends we had in common.'

'Did he ever share any... concerns with you?' The question was loaded with a suggestion. One step in false and she was a goner. 'You know, any threats that had been made against him?'

'As I said in my first interrogation, I have no idea of who could have possibly killed Keith.' She said, since it technically wasn't a lie. 'In fact, I believe the homicide was ruled a robbery gone wrong. Aren't I correct, Captain?'

Kolivan sent her an ice cold look, completely unimpressed with her little attempt at sassing him.

'Let's review the events of the night of the murder.' He placed a file on the table, opening it while maintaining eye contact. 'Both you and Mr. Kogane attended the same party on the night of his murder. Is that correct?'

'Yes. I was there, along with the entire senior class.'

'Did you see Mr. Kogane while attending that party?'

'I saw him enter.' _Tread lightly._ She thought, pushing away her fear. She had no time for such things. The only thing she could do was face Kolivan's stare. 'And I saw him leave too.'

'For how long did you stay at the party afterward?'

'I left at 1 am. I was home shortly after.' 

'Did you see anything on the house on the other side of the street?'

'No. I came through the back door as to not disturb my father and immediately feel asleep.'

'And you didn't hear anything during the night?'

'No. As I said, I was sleeping.'

The questions were pretty much the same as the ones she had answered on her first interrogation, six years before. Questions she knew by heart, engraved in her brain. But the Allura that had feared the policemen sitting across the table wasn't a lonely orphan who had spent too much time brewing up her hatred and rancor. So when she spoke, she did it calmly. Regally, even.

She was Allura Altea. She didn't bend and she didn't break, no matter how much pressure they applied.

The interrogation continued until there were no more possible questions to ask. Kolivan was hesitant to let her go, but when she rose from her chair, there was nothing he could do to stop her.

'I'm terribly sorry that I couldn't be of much help.' She said, giving her best impression of a relaxed smile. 

'We can continue our investigation from another angle.' Kolivan didn't say it was alright, or that it was understandable. It was noted. 'But you are the only witness currently alive. And as a classmate of one of the victims, not to mention a neighbor...'

'Is the Kogane case being reopened?' The question earned her a hard glance, and a part of her found itself quivering, lips shut tight.

'You should get going, Miss Altea.' Said Kolivan, opening the interrogation room's door. 'The sun will go down soon.'

As soon as she stepped out of the interrogation room, she felt as if a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She said goodbye to Captain Kolivan and headed to the exit, pointedly avoiding looking at the memorial for the fallen police officers. The smog-filled air of Drule almost felt welcome in her lungs. Allura had only smoked for a year in college, when the stress was getting to her, but she had quit as soon as she had finished her finals. But as she slumped against a wall, she wished she could just take a quick puff once more.

And that's when she heard him.

At first, she didn't recognize the voice. He usually spoke in a soft-mannered, meticulous way, like he was measuring his own words. But as the hisses reached her, she understood that the voice was very familiar. 

'You're all sloppy, that's what you are!' Screamed Lotor, his voice raising just enough for her to realize it was him speaking. 'How am I supposed to do anything when I'm surrounded by idiots?!'

A moment of silence, where it seemed that the person on the other side of the line was talking.

'Fix this mistake. Now.' He clicked his tongue. 'This is not a game. We can't afford to be careless.'

Allura realized too late that he had finished his phone call. When he turned around, she was full on staring at him.

'I-I'm sorry.' She said. 'I didn't mean to eavesdrop.'

'Oh.' Momentarily, he actually seemed taken aback. 'Did you... hear anything of that?'

'Only the last parts.'

'Good.' Cleaning his throat and straightening his shoulders, it was obvious Lotor was trying to hide what was going on his mind. But for once, she could actually see what he was feeling. And they weren't pretty emotions.

'Are you alright?' She asked, hesitant and unsure about breaking the awkward silence that had set. They weren't exactly friends, and she knew Lotor would never confide in her. So when he simply shook his head, she wasn't surprised.

'I'm fine. I'll get over it.' He put his phone in his pocket, bitterness apparent in every gesture. 'What are you doing here?'

'Things.' She answered, fast enough to make sure he got he wasn't supposed to ask further questions. 'Old things that have no matter in the present. You?'

'My father sent me in his place.' Said Lotor. 'He was supposed to come into questioning, but of course he didn't. So now I have to endure God knows how many hours of interrogation with Captain Kolivan. Again.'

Allura raised an eyebrow, wondering if Lotor was called into questioning by the police many times.

'You just sounded very... on edge.' Euphemism of the year. 'Forget about it. It was unprofessional of me to ask.'

'No, no.' Lotor's expression softened, only a little bit. Not enough to show any actual emotion besides anger, though. 'That was very kind of you. Even though we're not necessarily on the friendliest of terms.'

'I have bigger problems than you, Lotor.' She said, sighing just thinking about how little her investigation was progressing. When his face dropped, it actually caught her off guard. 

'You're right.' He said. For a moment, she thought he wanted to say something, or do something. His hand flexed, and for a second she thought he would touch her shoulder or some gesture of the same kind. But no. He just pressed his lips together. 'Are you going home now?'

'Yes.' She nodded, eyes still lingering on Lotor's hand. 'I have nothing left to do here.'

'You should be careful. Drule is a dangerous city, and it's dark out.' The way he said it, it seemed like he wasn't warning her about Drule, but about something else. Just as every time she spoke to Lotor, a part of her perked up, like she was reading a riddle. 

'I will.' Stepping back, she took a good look at him, tense shoulders and face slightly turned away so she couldn't look at his expression. 'And you don't have to worry about me. I can stand my ground.'

'Trust me, I know.' In the shadows of the approaching sunset, she could have sworn she saw something that almost seemed like a smile on his lips. 'Take care.'

Lotor went into the police station, and Allura went home, adding another cryptid conversation with Lotor to her growing collection. The more she talked to him, the more confused she got. 

Over the past weeks, his whole demeanor seemed to cool down. He was still closed-off, but at least he wasn't straight-off rude anymore. True, his students still didn't like him very much, and neither did Allura. But as she had just said, he wasn't her biggest problem. So she shouldn't be thinking about him, she should be thinking about how in hell she was going to find the suspicious man her father described in his journal, or how she was going to get Drule PD off her case.

And yet, she couldn't help but wonder just how much Lotor knew about her investigation.

Just as every day, she came home to an empty house. Allura and her father had never been the noisiest of people, but at one point she had accustomed herself to hearing some kind of noise around the house. The silence was crushing.

She kicked her heels off, feeling the plush carpet between her toes, and started taking ingredients out of the fridge to make dinner. But as she searched for a knife in the drawers, she realized it was the last thing she wanted to do.

The cork on the bottle popped with a delightful sound. Allura rarely indulged in any kind of vices, but at least wine was a fancy one. Even her father had liked his occasional scotch after a hard day of work. She took the glass to her lips, eyes fixed on the sunset that painted her kitchen in orange, and remembered how only six years before had stood next to that kitchen counter, slicing tomatoes as her father cut onions.

For the first time in what felt like years, she was completely alone. No one watching her. No one questioning her. She had had such fond memories of Altea, but coming back had tainted once sweet memories with a bitter aftertaste. Of course she had known the mystery of her father's death wouldn't be solved as soon as she stepped foot in her hometown, but no one had prepared for how hard it would actually be. And while she was determined to find the truth, she was still in her 20s. She had a right to simply sit down by her kitchen's window and watch the sun while her food cooked.

So at that moment, she allowed herself to almost actually relax. Almost.

The knock on the door was what ripped her out of her semi-calm state. It was quick, almost like a woodpecker had decided to give her door a few pecks, and she expected a voice to come, maybe one of the McClains asking for some flour or sugar (or, if it was Lance, saying she was the only sugar he really needed). When no voice came, she set her glass on the windowsill.

'Who is it?' She called, rising from her seat.

When she opened the door, she found nothing but an empty street. But there was something on her front step.

As she bent down, she saw someone had placed a long brown envelope on the ground. There was no stamp or anything revealing where it had come from, but her name was scratched in black ink on the front. Looking quickly over her shoulder, she grabbed it and got inside. 

One of the first things Allura had done when she had moved back into her old house was clean her father's study and occupy it as her own. She now spent most of her time there, sitting in her father's old leather chair. 

Allura threw the envelope on the desk as she lit the lamp, letting a circle of light shine over the strange package. It was closed with a piece of duct tape, which she quickly removed, letting the contents spill in front of her. Fine sheets of paper slid over the desk's surface, and she took a few seconds to realize they were photographs. Photographs of her. 

There she was, closing the front door as she left for work in the morning. Talking to Coran outside of school. Sitting next to Shiro on the graveyard, her long hair the only thing that made her realize it was her on that picture. It was her on those dozens of pictures.

Slowly, feeling every nerve in her body scream, she looked from the window to the street. 

Had that car always been there? So many of the pictures had been taken in front of her house, how hadn't she noticed that there was someone stalking her? 

As paranoia took over, she slammed the window shut, almost breaking the glass, and pulled her blinds down. Almost running out of the study, she did the same to the windows in every room of the house. When she was done, she fell into her chair like a sack of potatoes, nails digging into the skin of her palms like knives, heart pumping like a car's engine. 

She raised her eyes to the photographs once more, letting them fall on one with a familiar face beside her own. It had been taken on Halloween, on the school's steps. A tall man stood next to her, mouth partly open as he spoke. The photographer had seemed to zoom in on them. With a slow, steady hand, Allura picked that photograph and turned it around. In the back, four words were written.

"CAREFUL WHO YOU TRUST"

* * *

He swung the door open with a little too much strength, and the doorknob hit the wall. As he slammed it shut again and rushed towards the stairs, he literally couldn't care less.

'Jesus Christ, who raised you?' Asked Luis, seeing zoom past. Lance stopped just to say that they had been raised by the same people, but the expression of shock on his brother's face made him freeze. 'Lance, your hair! It's wet! Have you...'

'Long story, no time!' He said, starting his run up the stairs again. 

Keith was brooding by the skylight, as usual. They had soon established that that was Keith's side of the room, while Lance stayed on the other side.

'Big news!' He screamed, pulling his corkboard from under the bed. 'I think I know where your flashback was set!'

'What?' Keith frowned. 'You're dripping water on the floor.'

'Not important!' Lance reached for the red yarn and cut a long string, stabbing it on the board with a pin, right on the map of Altea that they had mostly considered useless. 'Did you use to go to the lake a lot?'

'Why do you want to know?' Asked Keith in a tone that Lance used to think was aggressive but now recognized as defensive.

'I went there today and I realized that it was exactly like the place you described.' Grabbing the other end of the string, Lance attached it to where the house would be on the map. 'Which is... strange.'

When he saw it on a map, he realized that the lake was nowhere near their street or the house where Keith said the end of the year party was being hosted. In fact, it was on the other side of town, almost out of the map

There was no reason for Keith to be there.

Lance turned around, expecting to see Keith coming to the same conclusion, but instead, he found him... not calm, exactly. But not surprised either. He crossed his face with his eyes, trying to find an inkling of what he was thinking.

'Stop staring at me.' He eventually grumbled, turning his eyes away.

'You knew, didn't you?' Asked Lance, realization slowly falling over him. 'Oh my God! You knew and you wouldn't tell me!'

'I didn't _know_ know.' Grumbled Keith, crossing his arms defensively. 'I had... a suspicion.'

'Oh, really? Do you have any more suspicions you would like to share with the class? Huh?' Lance threw his hands up, already feeling the pang of annoying that signified he was talking to Keith. 'Tell me, do you have a suspicion about who killed JFK? Or, something far more useful, about who killed _you_?'

'Ugh, you are insufferable.' Keith turned his face away. 'Besides, what were you even doing there, going for a swim? It's November and freezing cold!'

'You keep your secrets, Kogane, and I'll keep mine.' He brushed his damp hair away. 'I just... wanted to try something.' 

A shadow crossed Keith's face, and for a second Lance feared that he would ask details about what he had been doing at the lake. Instead, he saw Keith's anger falter for a second.

'Did you... see a...' His brows furrowed and he gulped. 'Did you see a shack while you were in there?'

'Huh?' That was the last question he was expecting. But the more he thought about it, he only knew a handful of people who could stand such a shabby thing as the shack he had found by the lake. And Keith featured first on that list. 'You know about that?'

'Oh. So it's still standing.' Keith seemed to completely ignore Lance's question, looking instead very relieved. Almost pleased. 'That's good.'

'You know, if we're going to work as a team you're gonna have to start telling me things.' He huffed, hating how much he sounded like a child who the adults weren't allowing to sit at the big table. Something he had experienced too much until he was at least 14. 

If he didn't know any better, he would think that what he saw in Keith's eyes was fear.

'I'm going to the garage to have some peace and quiet.' He said, quickly turning away. 'I need to sort my thoughts.'

'No, you need to get through your thick head that your lone wolf attitude is only an obstacle!'

Keith completely ignored him, leaving Lance to boil in his own anger, annoyance, and yes, a little hurt. He waited until he was sure Keith was nowhere in sight to kneel over his bed. Now that he knew about Keith's secret stash, finding it was easy. He pulled the wooden box out and laid it next to him. 

The old, rusty key was exactly where he had left it the last time he had seen the box, so many weeks before. 

It was a weak connection, something that had sparked out of the blue. But if anything, Lance had a good intuition. And he had promised himself to go back to the lake, anyway.

So maybe Keith didn't feel like giving him answers. What Mullet didn't know was that Lance McClain was the nosiest person in the world (at least according to Veronica), and while he was a loser, he wasn't a quitter.


	12. Shimmer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me at the beginning of the month: Wow, I'm writing pretty fast and putting up a bunch of chapters every week!  
> My teachers, coming for my ass with dozens of tests and homework: Oh, haven't you heard?  
> So yeah, guys, sorry for the delay. I wish I had a bombastic chapter for you guys, but I guess this is all I have for now. But don't worry, I have this whole fic planned out. New developments are yet to come.  
> Anyway, hope you enjoy this.

Saturday morning with her father had been spent with pancakes and maybe a walk to the park. She had learned to play football on a Saturday morning, as well as riding a bike and flying a kite. 

Now, Saturday morning involved mostly correcting tests and quizzes on the kitchen table while the TV blasted the news behind her. 

'The recent discovery of the corpse of a police officer in Drule has sent the city into disarray.' Said the news anchor, spewing words that Allura barely didn't register. 'According to inner sources, the officer was working undercover trying to infiltrate a notorious gang in the area. We will soon be joined by Sargeant Marmore from Drule PD, who will tell us about the growth of gang activity in Drule over the past years and the suspicions of corruption in law enforcement. Stay tuned.'

'Oh, how melodramatic are these news anchors.'

The sudden voice behind her made her jolt out of her seat, eyes darting around the kitchen to the knife forgotten on top of the counter. Jumping, Allura made her way towards it, but just as her fingers were about to wrap around the handle, she turned around and saw who had spoken. Coran was standing on the kitchen's doorway, looking slightly confused.

'It's just you.' She sighed, releasing the tension on her shoulders. 'Did I leave the door unlocked?'

'No, princess, I still had a few from... before.' Coran knew her too well to see that this wasn't regular stress. And Allura had never been so on edge. She knew that. Every noise in the middle of the night, every car that she heard on the street. She simply couldn't rest. Whenever she looked at the dark circles growing under her eyes, the weight seemed to grow. 'Is everything all right?'

'I-' She considered lying, but then she remembered. It was Coran. He would know anyway. 'Coran, I think I may have a problem.'

He didn't question it when she turned around and climbed the stairs with long strides. He just followed her into her father's study, where she had pulled all the blinds down and the desk was covered in papers.

'Why is the whole house so dark?' He asked, reaching for the blinds. 'Don't you want to open a window?'

Before even a bit of light escaped into the room, she had put the photos in front of him. For a second, Coran seemed to falter, simply staring at the dozens of photographs of her. They still sickened Allura.

'Someone's been following me.' She said. 'Ever since I got back to Altea. This showed up on my doorstep last night.'

'Allura, this is serious.' Coran shook his head, and her heart hurt at how much he looked like a concerned father. 'We need to talk to the police.'

The police. Her first thought had gone to them, of course. But her second had come to how it would be to be back in an interrogation room for the second time in a day, about how they would want to know why would someone followed her in the first place, her investigation. So instead, she shook her head.

'We can't really trust anyone.' The words were bitter on her tongue, but she spoke them clearly and coldly, like a general would. 'I'm only telling you this because I know you won't tell anybody.'

They shared a look, trading more information between their eyes than they could ever do by talking.

'This has something to do with your father's death.' Said Coran, nodding. 'We should have known it could be dangerous. Potassium cyanide is not a usual way to kill someone. It's the work of professionals.'

'Exactly.'

That night, that had been the only thought in her mind. Of course she had had the conscience that this was no regular crime from the moment she had laid her eyes on the letter from the coroner's office. But strangely, she hadn't been afraid. Not truly, terrifyingly afraid. She was too busy to freeze in fear like a deer in the headlights. Something in Allura always told her to move forward, to swallow the will to run and hide. 

Even now, as she laid her eyes upon the pictures that proved she was in danger, she knew she couldn't afford to curl up and cry like a part of her wanted to. 

'So what is our next move?' Asked Coran, twisting his mustache between his fingers. And those were the only words that really scared Allura: she was grasping at straws. She had no idea of what she was supposed to do next. 

Well, she did, actually. But it was a dumb idea and Coran definitely wouldn't approve of it.

'I think I'm going to stay still for a while.' She said. The expression of relief that washed over Coran's face only made her guts twist with guilt. She was lying to him, something that would have made young Allura clutch her pearls like a middle-aged suburban mom.

'That's good.' Before she could take a second, he was pulling her into a hug. She closed her eyes and for a second, just a moment, she could almost imagine he was her father. 'You're like a daughter to me. I don't want you to get hurt.'

'I'll be fine.' As she said those words, she felt like she was giving her valedictorian speech again, trying to sound a lot more hopeful than she actually was. 'But you should go. I don't want them to follow you too.'

'I'll leave through the back door.' Coran took another look at the photos, shaking his head. 'Just promise me you'll be careful.'

'I will.' She said.

But the truth, she realized as she saw will leave the room, was that she couldn't stay inside, filled with fear. Danger was a possibility that she had been well aware of for a long time. And while staying put was the safest option, she understood that there were certain risks to be taken.

After Coran left and the front door closed, the house was almost completely silent. The only sound she could hear was the TV coming from the kitchen, that interview with a police Sargeant that Allura couldn't mind listening to now. With decided steps, she headed to her bedroom and opened her closet's doors, pushing aside her clothes until she found an old cardboard box where she kept old clothes.

Allura had always dressed to impress, even at a young age. But that didn't mean she didn't have some comfier clothes. Like that old pink hoodie that completely covered her face when she pulled the hood up.

It was the oldest item of clothing she owned, and probably the ugliest. The fabric draped around her like she was wearing a sack of potatoes. It wasn't something she would normally be caught dead in. But as she stuck her hair in a tight bun and pulled the hood over her head, she understood that that was exactly was she was going for. 

She sneaked a quick look between her blinds. She had spent the whole night watching it discreetly, so now she knew that the people outside took shifts. And after spending an entire night awake, she also knew that each shift lasted for about 2 hours, and the cars took only a few minutes to switch. Sometimes they parked in the same spot, sometimes farther away on the street, as not to be too obvious.

If she was going to be reckless, at least she would have the decency to up in the minimum of care as to not screw herself over. 

Soon, the black car parked in front of her house moved, and a different one appeared on the other end of the street. Grabbing her phone and keys, she quickly slipped out of the back door and jumped the fence that separated her house from her neighbor's, hoping to God no one was watching. 

Resisting the urge to run, Allura walked across a few backyards before finally stopping, looking over her shoulder to make sure she hadn't been followed. Even then, she pulled her hood harder, making sure even the tip of her nose was hidden. 

Before she had gotten the photographs, she had spent some time circling the park, remembering how her father's diary had said that a man in dark had been spotted there. A suspicious man. And while she had never seen him, her intuition told her there was something amiss in that area of town. Kids seemed a lot more scared than she remembered, no longer running around or talking loudly. In fact, they seemed to mostly avoid the place.

It seemed weirder than anything else that had happened her to her that week, to come to the park on a Saturday and find it almost completely empty. Maybe it was the fact that it was getting colder by the day, but the chill on her bones seemed to come from another source. As she cruised around the flower beds, the wind hitting her with dust and a floral smell that was too strong, her whole body seemed to wince with the silence. The only sound in the whole world seemed to be her sneakers on the gravel and the wind rustling the trees.

At first, she only saw the two kids. She was almost sure they were two of her students at the Garrison, both around fourteen. Standing on the shadow of a big oak tree, seeming much smaller than their age suggested. Even from a distance, she could tell they were trembling. 

It only took her a second to realize that there was a darker shade in that shadow, a tall man with a long trenchcoat and a heavy bag thrown over his shoulder. His features slowly became more visible as she approached. And the one thing that struck her the most was that smile, that shark-like smile of sharp teeth that seemed to loom over the kids, like its owner was only seconds away from devouring them whole. A hand extended towards them, and while Allura couldn't quite see what he was handing over, she could see something shine between his fingers.

And before she knew it, she was picking up the pace.

'Hey!' She called, making the man turn his head towards her. 'Stop right there!'

She had just taken a step forward when he started running, pushing the kids to the ground. He hadn't even fully turned around and Allura was already sprinting after him, pulse running so fast she thought it would drown out every other sound. 

A car honked loudly as they both ran into the street, Allura hot on the strange man's tracks. Her feet pounded on the concrete as she lunged forward, only a few steps behind. He looked behind, face twisted in a scowl, and sped up. 

The man made a sharp twist towards the right, almost throwing her off, but it wasn't long before she was catching up again. Allura raised a hand, trying to grab his trench coat, but before she knew it the man was turning around, using both his bag and elbow to hit her on the side. Her ribcage cried with the impact, all the air knocked out of her lungs. She only understood she had fallen when her back came into contact with the trunk of a car. The loud clash of flesh against metal hit her before the pain did.

Allura closed her eyes, drawing in a sharp breath, and struggled back to her feet. But to no avail: the man was gone. 

'Bloody hell.' She whispered, still in pain. Her hood had fallen, and as she looked at her own face in the car's window she couldn't help but wince. She looked like a complete mess, hair a birds nest and face so wet with sweat it seemed like she had just left a shower. Worse of all, she had just blown everything. So much investigating for that, huh?

 _Useless._ She thought, pinching her lips tightly together. 

All of her life, Allura had tried to maintain a certain composure. She had been the high schooler with vision boards and inspiring quotes as backgrounds on her phone and computer. The valedictorian with a bright smile and an even brighter future. But in that empty street, her hands balled into fists and her nails dug into her palms.

_What am I going to do now?_

Her eyes only caught the shine when she was about to leave. A small ziplock bag was laying on the ground, and she quickly realized that it had probably fallen from the man's bag when he had hit her. She grabbed it and placed it at her eyes' level, staring at its contents inquisitively. 

The bag was filled with a thin, dust-like purple powder. She held it up against the sun and saw the way it reflected the light, like tiny bits of diamonds. She thought about opening the bag but quickly gave up the idea. If anything, she had to have the thing tested in a lab. God knew what that powder was. If a strange man was selling it in a park, then it was no good for sure. 

Without realizing, a small smile twisted her lips.

Perhaps there was still a light at the end of the tunnel.

* * *

The nightmares were changing. Evolving.

This time he wasn't on the sea anymore. He was on Lake Bakku, standing on the shore, walking deeper and deeper into the waters. When the water reached his chin, he simply kept going, not even bothering to close his eyes or take a deep breath. He walked until his whole face was underwater, and until the surface simply glistened above him like a jewel. 

He knew that Lake Bakku's waters were filled with dirt mud, but in his dream, they were crystal clear and let him see for miles. The longer he walked, the darker it became. And it got colder and colder until Lance was almost convinced he would turn into a popsicle at any given moment.

And then there he was. 

Keith rarely appeared on his nightmares, but when he did, he made sure to leave quite the impression. Like now, sitting with his legs crossed on the bottom of the lake, hair so dark it seemed lost in the water and skin so pale it seemed to shine under the weak light that came from above. Completely hypnotized, Lance continued his way towards him and kneeled in front of him. 

It took Keith a few seconds to realize he was there. He had that "thinking-too-hard" expression that Lance was so used to seeing on him, and when he was lost somewhere it was almost impossible to get his attention. 

Lance kneeled down in the coarse sand that settled at the bottom of the lake. Now he was standing at Keith's eye level, close enough so their noses could touch if only he leaned forward. Instead, he simply raised a hand, aiming for Keith's own, resting on his knee.

His fingers went through, as they always did, even in dreams. Instead of flesh, Lance's fingers touched the bottom of the lake, and even then Lance could feel the rough sand crushed under his nails. 

Just like that, Keith's image was gone, dissolved in the water like a sugar cube.

It was like he had been a shield. As soon as Keith was gone, Lance saw himself engulfed in darkness. The water became colder too, cold enough to make him freeze, and what once were soft currents making his hair sway from side to side were now full on rapids, dragging him backward.

He swirled in a whirlwind, arms and legs flailing until he managed to find his way out. Swimming to the surface was more kicking than anything else, but he finally managed it. With his lungs aching and his head screaming for air, he felt his fingertips break the water's surface.

A cold wind was blowing, something he felt as soon as his head was out. It was so strong he felt like someone was whipping his cheeks, and so cold it made his throat hurt. Air was still missing from his lungs when he turned around, looking for anything to hold on to while the waves threw his body back and forth. And then he saw it coming his way, looming over his head, fast as an arrow.

A ship's bow.

He shot up, clutching the sheets tightly between his fingers. A thin layer of sweat covered his skin, and as he rose a hand to wipe it away from his eyes, he found them wet with tears. He hadn't even realized he was crying. He closed his eyes shut, hoping that would stop the tears, but it didn't.

'Lance?'

 _Damn it._ He thought, quickly wiping his face.

Keith was standing on his side of the room, as always, but his eyes were fixed on Lance. In the dark, it was hard to say what he was thinking, but Lance could pierce together what was most probable. That not only he was annoying, he was also a crybaby.

'I had a nightmare.' He mumbled, immediately regretting his words. But in the grogginess of sleep, he was yet to slow to try and crack a joke or tell him to mind his own business. 'You know. Damn horror movies.'

'You didn't watch a horror movie tonight.' Said Keith, without missing a beat.

'Jeez, stalker much?' He plopped down on his bed again, hoping to avoid looking at Keith, but he could still catch glimpses of him through the corner of his eye, and he couldn't stop watching. He moved awkwardly, stepping back and forth, and while Lance desperately wanted him to stay away, a small part of him wanted Keith to give at least one more step forward. Just so he wouldn't feel so alone. But Keith simply stepped back and forth, back and forth. It made him furious. 'What exactly are you doing?'

'You just seemed very... disturbed.' He finally said. Lance did his best to not think about what that meant. 'Look, I know we're not really friends, but if you want to talk about it...'

'Please don't say you'll be there for me.' Growled Lance. 'And you know what? You're right. We're not friends. So you can buzz off!'

His voice came off as more aggressive than he had hoped for, and Keith had definitely noticed that. Lance saw his shoulders tense up, as if he was readying himself for another one of their fights, but before he could even come up with a smart-ass retort, he paused. And with that pause, he just gave Lance a look that made him feel naked, and not in a good way. Like his tiredness was tattooed on every inch of his skin.

'It's alright if you don't want to tell me.' He finally said, much softer than Lance had expected. 'I mean, if I can keep my secrets, then you can keep yours. I was just making sure you were ok.'

'Oh.' For some reason, it had never occurred to him that that was the only thing Keith wanted to know. Whether he was ok or not. It caught him a little off guard. 'Thanks, dude.'

Lance turned around in his bed, even though he didn't want to sleep anymore. He simply laid on his side, feeling a very soft warmth on his stomach. Keith was an asshole most of the time, but sometimes Lance could imagine that he had been something else before. Someone shy and a little scared. Someone kind. 

Against his wishes, he fell asleep again. But he didn't dream. It was too light a sleep for that.

When he woke up, his first thought went to how nice it was not to hear his alarm clock the first thing in the morning. He stretched, feeling his toes touch the colder parts of the bed, and opened his eyes to a room bright with sunshine. But slowly he realized that something was missing. 

Keith was no longer standing on his side of the room.

Suddenly, the memories from only a few hours before came rushing back, and Lance felt his face burn with shame. He buried his face in his pillow and screamed into the cotton, hoping that would somehow make everything better. But when he raised his face again, he was still ashamed and still lowkey panicking. It was only now dawning on him that Keith had seen him waking up from a nightmare. Even worse, Keith had seen him cry.

'Fuck.' He moaned, lifting his body with effort. 'Way to go, McClain. Because your counselor doesn't need to know that you cry at night, but Keith motherfucking Kogane does.'

It wasn't like he cared what Keith thought of him. Why would he, anyway? 

Yet, a part of him was embarrassed. How would Keith even take him seriously when they argued if all he saw when he looked at him was a boy with silly nightmares? Not even his family and friends knew how little he slept. But since Keith was technically his roommate, Lance now thought that he should have seen this happening from a mile away. The boys in his cabin at summer camp had known everything about him in the span of a week, it was a miracle it had been that long before Keith saw the mess that he was. 

Lance internally gulped, feeling anxiety creep up on him. How long would it be before the truth, the whole truth, was out?

 _There are worse people to know than Keith._ He thought, trying to cheer himself up. _Like Luis. Or even worse, Mom. Who can Keith tell, anyway? He's a ghost._

Then why did it bother him so much, imagining himself as weak in Keith's eyes, he questioned as he brushed his teeth and stared at himself in the mirror. The thought played in the background of his mind as he listed off the many things he had to do. Like get a face mask, because his face looked drier than the Sahara desert. Or go back to Lake Bakku and investigate that damn shack.

'Hey there, champ!' Screamed Veronica as soon as he left the bathroom. Marco and Luis were standing right behind her, so he couldn't help but wonder if they were waiting for him. 'Heard you went for a swim yesterday.' 

Damn. He had almost forgotten about running into Luis while his hair was still damp.

'Oh, just went to check out the lake.' He said, hoping that would defuse the situation. It did the exact opposite, only widening Veronica's smile.

'That's so good!' She beamed, patting him on the back. 'I'm gonna be honest, we were kind of worried about you. Because you didn't join the swim team at the new school and all.'

'They're having emergency tryouts, actually.' He found himself saying, and immediately regretted it. The look of hope and happiness on his siblings' faces was too much for him to handle. Instead, he rushed to the kitchen. 'I gotta hurry up. I want to go somewhere.'

'Don't worry too much, Mom already packed you breakfast!' Screamed Marco as Lance delved into the kitchen. In fact, he did find a bag waiting for him on the kitchen counter, which he took while he hurried for the back door. He feared to find his mother because he knew that would mean an even bigger display of pride. 

He was glad his siblings were feeling confident in his recovery, because he wasn't.

He opened the bag as he was leaving, and it made him feel a little sick. Inside there was an apple, a water bottle, and some granola bars. Normal food for anybody else, but that was always what he took to swimming practice. 

Now, Lance wasn't a liar. At least that was what he told himself as he hopped on the bus. He was just someone who had made the mistake of playing along with a misconception. Well, more than one, sure. He had only gone to the lake because he had agreed to go to tryouts for the swim team. And because he had said he was actually a good swimmer. Which, taken into consideration that he hadn't practiced in months, was kind of a lie.

Whatever. He hadn't directly lied. He wasn't someone to do that. 

Altea was very cold in November, even when the sun was high. According to the news, it would soon start to get freezing outside, so Lance thanked that he had had this idea now and not in a week. 

The lake was deserted, just like the day before. He grabbed a few pebbles from the ground and made them jump on the water as he walked, watching them ricochet and make small circles across the lake's surface. The same lake that had haunted his dreams just that night. 

For a second he thought about taking off his shoes and dip his feet in the water, but he quickly realized that he didn't feel strong enough for that. Instead, he kept a good distance from the water's edge. Giving one of his granola bars a good bite, he made his way back to the little hidden shack. 

The first time he had seen it, in the dim light of the approaching night, most of the damage had been hidden by shadows. But under the harsh light of day, he could see that the whole building seemed on the verge of collapsing. Moss was growing on one side, and Lance feared that the rood would fall on top of him if he went inside. 

Still, he reached for the key inside his pocket.

The key scraped the keyhole with the scratchy sound of rusty metal against rusty metal. The door fought for a second, refusing to open, but when Lance forced his shoulder against the wood it quickly gave in, opening with a long creak. 

The shack was a cramped one division room with wooden walls and virtually no windows. Most of the light came from cracks in the ceiling, and the way the rotten wood creaked under Lance's shoes told him that rain probably came from there too. The whole space had a damp smell of abandonment, but something about it made Lance think that someone might have enjoyed being there once. Like the long unlit cigarette butts or the carvings on the wall that seemed to have been made with a knife.

He traced one of them with a finger. They were obviously not the work of an artist, but yet they seemed to be made with great care, like whoever did it had been hyperfocused on every inch. And something about that pointed to a very familiar figure.

The only thing left of his granola bar now were crumbs. He crushed the packet inside his fist and considered dropping on the floor, but after a moment of hesitation he stuffed it into his bag to throw it in a trash can later. In a strange way, this shack felt more like Keith's room than the one at the house. And throwing trash into another guy's room was something Keith did, not Lance. 

As he forced himself to look away from the carvings, he told himself this wasn't a gesture of respect.

Something in the corner of the room caught his attention. The shine of broken glass. He quickly jumped in that direction, kneeling down. On the floor, face down, was a cell phone.

The phone was cracked in various places, and it was obviously a little old. The only accessory was a simple red case, and as soon as Lance's eyes landed on it, he knew exactly who it belonged to. When he pressed the home button, he found that the screen remained dark. Probably because it was out of battery, but maybe it was just broken. 

Still, it was obviously Keith's. And it was in one of the last places he had been while alive, forgotten inside a shack. It obviously had important information.

Only he knew that Keith would rather die a second time than give away his phone's password. So he needed to find someone who could get him what was inside that damn phone.

Thankfully, he knew exactly who that was.

* * *

From the moment she heard Lance's voice, she knew he wanted something.

'Hey there, Pidgey.' He chirped, and she could almost hear the cocky smile on the other end of the line. 'How's it going?'

'No, Lance, I'm not doing your homework for you.' She huffed, trapping her phone between her ear and her shoulder so she could type on her computer with both hands. An awkward laugh came from the other end of the line.

'What? No, no, it's not that.' A small pause followed. 'But there's still a little favor that I'd like to ask from you.'

'Knew it.' Sighed Pidge, leaning back on her chair. 'What is it?'

'If I dropped by your house and asked you to do something that may not be so legal for very shady reasons, like, say, hack into a phone, would you do it without asking any questions?'

'It depends.' She eyes the empty bag of chips crumpled next to her computer. 'Bring me some chips and I'll consider it.'

'Thank you!' Beamed Lance, blowing a kiss through the phone. Pidge resisted the urge to roll her eyes, even though he wouldn't be able to see it. 'I'll be there in a second!'

Pidge hung up and threw her phone onto the unmade bed, not even bothering to take her eyes off her computer screen. 

Her past days had been passed in a chatroom. An anonymous chatroom, to be exact.

It had taken her months, but she had finally managed to track him. Well, his account, at least. 

Maybe he was just an idiot who wanted some attention, maybe he was just a liar. Maybe she was an idiot for believing that he had some information the cops didn't have. But after months of fruitless investigation, this was kind of the only path she hadn't really followed yet. So what did she have to lose, anyway?

She had just finished sending a message when the doorbell rang. Her back ached in pain as she got up from her chair and went down the stairs, complaining about the hours she had spent in front of her computer. 

Lance was leaning over her doorframe, his smile showing all of his teeth. Pidge wondered whether he had gotten the memo that they weren't in a Colgate commercial. 

She guessed not.

'Pidge, my good friend!' He beamed. 'Uh, love that outfit. Heard cargo shorts and oversized hoodies are all in this season.'

'Yeah, yeah, just hand it over.' Lance reached into his pocket and passed her a beat-down phone. She frowned. 'What is this piece of shit?'

'Remember about how I said on the phone that you weren't supposed to ask questions?'

'What do you want me to do with this, put it on display at a museum?' She asked, running a finger along a crack that traveled across the whole screen. 'Besides, this isn't even your phone.'

'It's... a friend's.' Said Lance, shrugging. Suddenly, he reached into his bag and pulled out a bag of chips. 'But look, I bought these while I was on my way! Just like I promised!'

Her eyes lingered on the phone on her hand, and then on the brightly colored bag of chips. With a defeated sigh, she gave up.

'Well, I'm going to hell anyway.' Said Pidge, slipping the phone into her pocket. 'I'll unlock it for you, but my involvement is over there. Got it?'

'Yep!' Lance planted a kiss on her cheek (which was quickly wiped away) and made his way towards the door. 'You're a candy, Pidge! See you on Monday!'

She was already turning towards the stairs when she hesitated. Lance was still there, although he seemed like he was about to leave. But something he said had made her question.

'Hey, loser!' She called. 'You have other friends beside me and Hunk?'

'Oh, it's... complicated.' He trailed off, waving his hand like it was nothing. But his body was too tense for it to be nothing. Without her even noticing, the corners of Pidge's mouth twisted into a smirk.

'Don't tell me you're dating someone.' She purred. The look of horror on Lance's face was enough to make the whole cell phone thing worth it.

'Disgusting!' He spat out, shaking his head violently. His tanned skin suddenly became very red. 'He's horrible! A complete jerk, thinks he's better than me, and has the strangest haircut I have ever seen!'

'Huh.' Pidge cocked her head to one side. 'I don't know, man, seems like your type.'

Lance gave her an offended look before storming out, banging the door loudly behind him. Pidge laughed to herself as she opened the bag of chips and made her way upstairs again. Sure, she knew Lance had a crush on that girl from the swim team, but it was still fun getting him riled up.

 _Although, do we even know anyone that matches that description?_ She thought, sitting down and placing a chip on her tongue. However, all and any concern she could have about Lance's love life faded as she saw that a new bubble had popped up on her chat. Cracking her knuckles, Pidge poured herself over the keyboard.

The next time she glanced at the clock, hours had passed. Her eyes were dry, lids heavy, and the glimpse she caught from in-between her closed blinds told her it was night time already. It didn't make much difference, though. She would probably spend the whole night awake anyway. Pidge had been pulling an ungodly amount of all-nighters recently. 

When she heard the door unlock, it caught her off guard. And when she heard footsteps up the stairs and her door open, her head perked up. 

'Mom.' She said, blinking. 'You're home early.'

Her mother usually chastised her for being inside all day or not opening any window. Every day she pleaded Pidge to leave her computer and go outside, take a walk to the park. But when she walked into her room, she was strangely silent. She didn't even stop to stare at the piles of clothes and gadgets surrounding her bed, making a simple beeline towards her.

Before Pidge knew what was happening, her mother's arms were around her, clutching her close. She felt something wet against her skin and realized her mother was crying. Panic instantly filled her, her first thoughts going out to her brother. Her mother still had her white scrubs on, the smell of antibacterial soap clinging to the fabric.

She pulled away, holding her mother at an arm's length, and only then she saw the smile, the first genuine one after so many months.

'I've got good news, Katie.' She pulled her back into the hug. 'Oh, I have wonderful news.'


	13. Paranoia

After witnessing his nightmare, Keith seemed to appear in his room a lot less during the night, disappearing from his view only a little after sundown with a few words that could almost pass as a friendly goodbye. The only reason Lance had even noticed it was because his insomnia-riddled brain would not let him sleep, so he ended up just staring at the walls and thinking, going through the things that made his brain rattle like a maraca. The murder, the theories he had been spewing to himself when Keith showed little to no cooperation. His homework, whenever an exam was near. And, when his eyes landed on the clock on his bedside table, he counted aloud the minutes passing until the day he had been dreading.

The swim team try outs. 

It was 6 am, a lot earlier than Lance usually woke up. The small window on the bathroom let only a slither of cold morning light into the room, and since he hadn't bothered to turn on the lights, everything was still half covered in shadows. Yawning, Lance turned the faucet on and let warm water fill in the bathtub. While he waited he brushed his teeth and properly washed his face, keeping the cold fingers over his eyes for a second.

He looked good, for someone who had spent the entire night wide awake and curled into a fetal position. But his skin was looking a little dull, his forehead and chin a little oily. He was due a face for a mask at the end of that day, maybe even a nap if he managed to find the time.

With the bathtub full, Lance let his pajamas slide to the floor

The hot water burned his skin as he slipped inside the bathtub and rested his back against the porcelain, letting his neck drape over the cold edge. Steam rose above his head, and Lance closed his eyes and tried to remember all the baths he had taken in his life. All the hours he had spent soaking up and relaxing, the screams of his siblings telling him to get out of the bathtub muffled by some easy-going music. Back when water, any water, was a second home to him.

He hadn't taken a bath like that since the accident.

The bathtub in his old house was much bigger. This one was considerably older and smaller, so much that his knees were slightly bent to allow him to lay down completely. And when he let his head fall a bit to the side, just enough to let his ears stay underwater, he could hear sounds that were still unfamiliar to him. Like rats hurrying under the floorboards, taking steps so quick and nervous that they almost sounded like a clock ticking far away.

With a deep breath, Lance let himself slide down until the water covered his head completely.

He knew that hot water would only damage his skin and make him look like a live lobster, and yet he just held on tight. He had held his breath for much longer, under unruly waves and at the bottom of his school's swimming pool, whenever he didn't feel like practicing or just wanted to rest for a while. That day out in the sea, when he had fallen overboard, he had lost track of the time he had spent holding his breath, trying to treasure every molecule of oxygen. Through the panic, his body had felt like it was made of iron, an old piece of metal falling into the depths. 

 _I'm alive._ He thought to himself, repeating the same mantra that sounded through his head whenever he thought of that day. _I am alive and breathing, safe and sound. Now I just have to get out of here._

His lungs ached, his face was burning. Slowly, like he was raising his face to see the sun after many cloudy days, Lance let his nose and mouth break the water surface and breathed in deeply.

Later, already dried and dressed, he didn't feel much better. Even though he still hadn't eaten anything, he felt like he could throw up on any given moment.

'Everything all right?' Asked Luis, as Lance tumbled into the kitchen. The breakfast table was a little heavier than usual, and Lance could count many of his favourite pre-competition snacks on its surface. Normally that would warm his heart, but this time it made his stomach feel heavy. He hid it with a smile.

'If my all right you mean ready to blow the competition, then yeah, I'm all right.' Lance grabbed a muffin from the table and fell down onto what was now basically his assigned seat at the family's table. 'Where's everybody?'

'Alicia is working, she took the kids to school. Veronica already left, so did Mom. I stayed to give you and Marco a ride.'

'A ride to school?' Lance took a bite from his muffin and raised an eyebrow. 'Is this the same Luis who once drove past me while I walked back home under some _very_ heavy rain?'

'I didn't know it was you at the time!'

'You made direct eye contact for five seconds before driving away!'

'Well, I thought you would appreciate it this time. After all, we can't afford to have our star tire himself before his big show down.' Said Luis with a hopeful look, quickly turning away. Lance buried his teeth in his muffin. Only a few months before, his siblings would happily sit on his head whenever they wanted something from him. Now they all treated him like he had dropped from space and they weren't really sure what to do with him. 

The swim team try outs hung over their heads while they climbed into the car and started the journey to school. Lance felt it too, threatening to pull the corners of his mouth down.

In the school's parking lot, Hunk rose above the other students like a bolder. As he made his way towards Lance, the people in front of him parted like the Red Sea. Lance threw his backpack over his shoulder, ready to go and meet his friend, but before he could open the door Marco laid a hand on his arm.

'Hey, what time are the try outs?' He asked.

'Why do you wanna know?' Lance only realized how defensive he sounded after he spoke aloud, and mentally kicked himself for that. Maybe he was spending too much time with Keith.

'I want to go and support you.' Said Marco, raising an eyebrow. A "duh" was eminent in his voice.

'Nah, no need.' Lance tried to gulp, and found his throat as dry as a desert. 'I'll just swim a few laps and the coach will say if she thinks I fit in the team or not. No big deal.'

'Yes big deal.' Chimed in Luis, turning around. 'We've been to all of your competitions. Why would this one be any different?'

'It's not a competition.' Lance's eyes nervously slid to the other side of the window, where Hunk was staring at him quizzically, wondering why he hadn't stepped out yet. 'Plus, there are more people competing for the spot on the team, I may lose. If you go you'll just end up wasting your time.'

'Lance!' His brothers screamed, but he opened the door and jumped to the ground before they could do anything like give him an inspiring speech or a heart-to-heart talk. 

'Gotta go, see you later!' Grabbing Hunk by the wrist, Lance threw himself into the crowd of students making their way inside the white and blue halls of Garrison High, hoping no one was noticing how much he wanted to dig a whole and bury himself right then and there. He balled his hand into a fist to stop it from shaking and turned to Hunk. 'Siblings, man. You're lucky you're an only child.'

'And you're lucky you have such a great best friend.' Hunk stopped in front of his locker, smiling. 'Just wait until you see this.'

'Unless it's a caramel latte with extra whipped cream, I don't want to see it.' Sighed Lance, slumping against the wall. 'This has not been a good morning.'

'Look what I brought to support you.' Said Hunk, fumbling inside his locker and finally taking out a big card with the words "RAZZLE DAZZLE" written with glittery golden paint in a very wonky handwriting. 

For a second, Lance felt like his feet were glued to the ground. Not only Hunk was going to the try outs to cheer him on, he was bringing a card that could be seen from space with him. 

'That is...' Lance searched for a word that could manage to not be an insult while also not being a lie. '...shiny.'

'Thanks. Shay helped me make it during the weekend.' The bell rang, making everybody hurry on their way to class. 'By the way, Pidge says she's sorry but she can't come.'

'Uh?' It was strange of Pidge to miss an opportunity to mock him. But now that he thought about it, she had been MIA since the weekend, only sending him a message saying she could take a while hacking the phone found on the shack. Since then, no message, no joke, not even a meme. He was beginning to fear she was dead in a ditch somewhere. 'Why?'

Hunk stopped in his tracks, glittery card still in hands. His sombre expression made a strange contrast.

'Well, everyone knows, so it's not really a secret.' Said Hunk. However, he still leaned in closer to whisper into his ear. 'Pidge's brother has kind of been in a coma for a few months now. And now the doctors think that he may finally wake up.'

'That's... wow.' Lance shook his head. 'Man, now I feel bad for asking her so many favours.'

'Don't feel bad, bro, you didn't know.' Hunk clasped a hand over his shoulder. 'Besides, you have to keep your head clean. I hear you really spiked the swimming coach's interest with your talk about being such a great swimmer and all.'

Lance nervously ran his sweaty hands on his jeans, desperately trying to appear calm.

'Alright buddy, but I have to warn you: the sight of my body in a swimsuit has been enough to make several people swoon.'

_God damn me and my big mouth._

* * *

'Hey, Earth calling Allura.' 

Shiro's voice pulled her out of her thoughts. She dragged her eyes away from the window and smiled at him, hoping he hadn't noticed how vacant her expression was. But this was Shiro she was talking about. And as he stared at her, eyes narrowed down in suspicion, a wild part of her brain wondered if he had some sort of X-Ray vision that allowed him to see the small bag of purple powder tucked between the books in her briefcase. 

But that was insanity, of course.

'I'm terribly sorry.' She blinked and cleared her throat, twisting her lips into a smile. 'What were you saying?'

'I was asking you if you'd seen the news.' Said Shiro, eyeing her over his cup of coffee. 'You know, about the police officer found dead in Drule?'

Allura prided herself on always keeping in touch with the news, but now she was ashamed to admit that she hadn't even looked at what the local newspaper had to say in a while. Between following the clues about her father's death, being stalked, and having to deal with the fact that maybe the secret she had sworn to keep could be on the verge of breaking out, she was kind of short on time. The only things she could remember about the whole affair were a few snippets of what she had heard in the minutes where she wasn't downing tea in a vain hope of calming down.

'It had something to do with drugs, didn't it?' She asked, bringing up the only piece of information she muster up about the case.

Shiro went silent for a while, running his fingers over the edge of his mug. They had been having lunch together for a few weeks now, trying to catch up on the years spent apart. But it was obvious that there were a lot of walls between them now, walls that their teenage selves had never had. 

A part of her wished she could tell him what she had been finding in her investigation.

'Remember how sure we were that we lived in a safe world?' Asked Shiro, breaking the silence. There was no nostalgia on his tone. 'I still want everyone to be happy. Especially the kids.'

'Shiro, you're probably the best counsellor this school has ever had.' Said Allura, shaking her head. 'Besides, I believe our students still have a chance. You should see the teenagers that live across the street from me. They're probably the happiest family in the world.'

Maybe her eyes were tricking her, but Shiro seemed to become only tenser.

'Your neighbour is Lance, right?' He asked, wrinkles appearing on his forehead. 'Brown hair, tan skin. Really loud.'

'Yes, that's him exactly.' Allura shrugged with a smile. 'He's very cocky, but I think underneath it all he's actually really sweet. Not my brightest student, but he puts in a lot of effort. Even if most people don't realize it.'

'Does he ever act... odd in your class? Or at home.' 

'Odd?' Allura put her mug down, making a sound that was a bit louder than she intended. Shiro seemed to tense up even more. 'He talks a lot, but I'm starting to think that's just how he is. Why do you ask, Shiro?'

Shiro's chair made a harsh sound as it dragged across the floor and away from their table. Even he seemed a bit surprised.

'It's nothing. I should get going.' Grabbing his bag, Shiro twisted his lips into a small smile. If she could even call it that. 'It was nice having lunch, Allura. See you around.'

'Shiro?' She called, just before he could get away. 'Don't worry. With you here to help these kids, they'll all be fine.'

'Thank you.' His smile almost reached his eyes, but not quite. While he had accepted the compliment, it was obvious he didn't quite believe ehr.

Allura watched silently as Shiro got up and left, shaking her head. For some reason, Shiro seemed to care a lot about Lance. Allura didn't know much about him, despite being his teacher and neighbour. As the school counsellor, Shiro probably knew something she didn't.

She could remember looking through the upper floor window and seeing Lance in his bedroom, gesturing excitedly as he seemed to talk to thin air. So maybe he talked alone, but he still seemed pretty normal at school. Maybe she should keep a closer eye on him, just for safety.

With a sigh, Allura checked her clock. Lunchtime was almost over, and while she really cared whether or not one of her students was in trouble, she also had little time to use the lab before classes started again.

As she expected, the hallway was empty, and so was the lab. The stillness and silence of that forgotten room were the calmest thing she could experience at the moment.

Allura was by no means a forensic scientist, nor had she ever intended to be. But she had had enough classes in labs to know her way around, and a quick review of her college chemistry book later she had her coat and goggles on and was unlocking the cabinet where they kept their materials. She lined them in front of her, small bottles of strange substances, and a small bag full of purple powder next to them. 

She had to be careful not to take too much, so she did the whole process with careful, planned gestures. The first test she wanted to make involved a simple solution of formaldehyde and sulfuric acid, putting a small spoon of powder aside to mix it with, and a few drops of methanol to slow down the process. Keeping her eyes on the small petri dish, she waited for the colour to change. And then, just as the liquid began to turn, she heard the doorknob turn. There was someone coming.

By the time the door was opened, Allura had already hid the test tube behind her back and thrown the bag with the powder inside a drawer of the work table. So when Lance crossed the doorframe, whistling a little tune, she was already standing tall and straight as a fuse, the perfect image of a respectable teacher who didn't do any experiences she shouldn't.

'Lance?' She asked. 'What are you doing here?'

'Oh. Hi, All... I mean, Miss Altea.' Lance raised his backpack with one hand, giving her an innocent boy next door expression. 'Just finishing my History homework. That teacher is, and pardon my French, a complete wanker.'

Allura raised an eyebrow, resting a hand on her hips.

'It would be unprofessional of me to discuss whether or not Lotor is, and I quote you, a wanker. But I feel like it is my duty as your teacher to remind you that we have a library. Shelves, books, all those nice things for students.'

'Alright, fine.' Lance sighed, letting his body fall into a chair. Allura shifted slightly, still making sure he didn't see what she was doing. However, Lance seemed a lot more interested in staring at the ceiling dramatically, arm thrown over his forehead like he was some kind of 18th century lady going through strong emotions. That made her glad it had been him to barge in and not someone like Pidge. 'I am avoiding my friends. I know, I'm horrible. Please just let me be a coward here.'

 _Oh, no._ She thought. _This is Shiro's job, not mine. Where is he when he is needed?_

'I thought you liked your friends.'

'And I do!' He grumbled, turning his face towards her. 'I like everyone here in Altea. You specially, princess. But it's just that... Well, I have this really big thing today. Swim try outs. And I'm really rusty, so I know I'll be terrible. And yet, Hunk and Shay insist on going to support me, and I already had to ward off my brothers. So I'm going to stay here, enjoying your company and finishing my homework for the worst subject in the world, taught by the worst teacher ever.'

With that, Lance opened his backpack and pulled out his History textbook, looking miserable as he flipped it open.

'Is he really that bad?' Asked Allura. She had heard stories about how Lotor was obviously very smart and knew what he was talking about, but was incapable of making a single student in his classroom like him. In some ways he was even worse than Slav, the Mathematics teacher that had driven many students to complete insanity, Shiro included.

'I know that you can't trash mouth your colleagues and all, but he's terrible.' Lance was already scribbling away, his face crunched up. 'I'm about 70, 75% sure I'm going to fail his subject. I just can't bear to listen to him for more than 5 seconds without wanting to punch him. He's just so... I don't know, I always feel like he's planning a murder or something.'

'There you go, exaggerating again.' Allura chuckled, even though she secretly felt like agreeing. 'I was actually starting to feel worried, you know?'

She turned away, reaching for her test tube again, and froze. For a second, she had actually forgotten what she was there to do, but as she saw the solution, now turned into a orange-brown liquid, it hit her like a train. 

That colour didn't lie, and neither did the sudden nausea and dizziness she felt creeping up on her. Discreetly, she leaned against the table, trying with all her strength not to fall to the floor. 

'Everything alright?' Asked Lance, already getting up. Allura straightened herself, sending him a quick look. So _now_ he decided to pay attention.

'Yes, just... low blood sugar. Haven't eaten lunch yet.' It wasn't a lie, technically. Her stomach was in fact roaring, but in fear.

The puzzle pieces were moving now, and the picture they were making wasn't pretty. 6 years before, she had seen a glimpse of that very same picture, and she hadn't liked it at all.

And then people had died. Keith was the first one, the first to try and do something, the first they targeted. They had waited for a disaster after his death, but the truth is that Altea remained as calm as ever. The ones who knew didn't dare to do anything, and the clouds that had threatened them with a storm were now parting. 

But she was looking at the hand that had clasped around the town's throat only a few years before. And the only thing she knew was that she couldn't tell anyone. This was her sole secret now, no one to share it with.

'Are you sure you're good?' Lance was right behind her, homework already forgotten. 'Because I don't mind running to the nurses' office and...'

'It's fine, Lance!' She interrupted. 'That's very nice of you, but I'm finished here and you have a lot of things to do, don't you? When does your next class start, ten minutes?'

'More or less, but...' 

'No buts, get going.'

'Ok, I'll go. If you promise me everything's fine.'

Allura sighed, wondering if it would be wise to tell Lance what was really happening. But with senior year, try outs, the school play and whatever else Lance had on his plate, the last thing she wanted was to burden a 17-year-old with what were some of the worst news she could give anyone.

'That's not a promise anyone should make. Ever.' Hesitantly, Lance gathered his things and walked towards the door. As he opened it, he looked at Allura like he feared she would drop dead at any second.

Finally alone, Allura was let alone. Without waiting a single second, she dashed towards the sink where they threw away the residues and turned the faucet on, cleaning the test tube until there was no way to tell what it had once held. 

Out in the hallway there were dozens of students, innocent and far too young to live the same nightmare she had once lived. And only a few inches away from her, in a small plastic bag, there was a powder that, according to what she now knew, was one of the most potent drugs one could find.

* * *

Chlorine and sweat. Oh how he'd missed that smell.

Already in his swimming suit, Lance sat on a bench in the boy's locker room, fingers clutching the wood so hard he was afraid he would get a splinter. Being there felt wrong and right at the same time, and if he closed his eyes tight enough he could imagine himself a year younger, sitting on his old school's locker room and waiting for his friends to hurry up so they could train for some competition that they already knew they would ace.

'You're not going into the sea.' He whispered to himself, slowly rocking himself back and forth. As soon as he said that, his mind went back to those black rocks, sharp as spikes, and he was forced to shake his head, as if that would make the thought fly away. 'This is a pool. You were born to do this.'

Outside, he could hear people walking, probably already lining up by the pool. Someone was probably seconds away from figuring out he wasn't there. So that was probably the right time to chant some kind of inspirational mantra that would get him on his feet in less than a second, with all the energy he needed to blow away the competition. But he felt like when he was a kid and had to rip off a band-aid. It was like he was expecting some kind of pain.

'Hey, uh, Lance?' A knock on the door, and Plaxum's voice. 'Are you alright in there?'

'Super!' He squeaked, getting up with a nervous jump. 'Out in a minute, just... doing my good luck ritual!'

'O...k?' As he heard Plaxum leave, he whispered an inaudible Spanish curse word to himself and dug his nails into his palms. 

Band-aid. He just had to think about it like that, a necessary pain to get through the day, the trauma, his life. If he just gathered enough strength, he could plunge into that water and come home a new man. For once, he actually saw coming home as a good thing. Even if Keith was there, ruining everything as he always did.

 _Just think of how smug you'll look telling him you made it._ He thought to himself. With that, he pulled his best victorious smile from the bottom of his stomach and stepped out of the locker room.

The pool at Garrison High was smaller than the one at his former school, and so were the stands. A mural of a lion, Garrison's mascot, was painted on a wall, and as Lance took his place between the others, he found himself staring straight into the its' eyes. Somewhere to his right, he heard Hunk and Shay singing an off-tune chant that was mostly just his name. He loved them both to death, but they couldn't write chants for shit.

Then, something caught his eye. He actually took a few seconds to recognize the dark haired man making his way through the stands. Nowadays black hair always reminded him of Keith, and even though he was damn well aware that Keith couldn't leave the house, he wouldn't be surprised if he powered through just to go and make fun of him. 

In his Keith preoccupied state (or, as he liked to call it, Keithoccupied), he only recognized the man when he noticed how stiff one of his arms looked. A prosthetic. As Shiro sat down next to Hunk and Shay, jovially sharing in their chant, he felt his breath finally leave his lungs. So it wasn't a ghost.

Still, he couldn't help but be a little disappointed. And nervous.

Would Shiro feel let down if he screwed up?  

'Good luck.' Said Plaxum, taking her place next to him. Lance gave her a smirk as he set his goggles over his eyes. His nerves felt like tensed up ropes, making moving almost hurtful, and yet he still found enough control to wave towards his friends, a quick salute as he got into position.

The coach took her place by the side of the pool, and Lance could just tell that she was watching him. Let her. He always performed better under pressure, or at least that was what he liked to tell himself.

 _You are Lance McClain._ He thought to himself, unclenching his jaw and stretching his arms forward. _You were born in Varadero, by the water. You learned how to swim before you even learned how to walk. You've got this._

'Attention, everyone!' Said Coach Luxia, grabbing her whistle. 'The try outs begin now, you'll do 30 meters in freestyle. It'll be timed, of course, and I will be glad to welcome the best of you into the Garrison's swim team. I wish you the best of luck!'

The swimmers traded nervous looks, shifting uncomfortably in their places. Lance's eyes searched for his small team of supporters on the stands, finding them leaning towards the action in expectation. With him facing forward, no one could see the squeeze of pain spreading on his face as he prepared himself to jump.

_Ready._

30 meters, freestlyle. He'd done more, much more. If he did this right, he would be so fast he wouldn't even notice he was underwater until it was all over. 

_Set._

He had to think of Dad, not his hands as he tried to shield him from the waves but his face as he got his first gold medal. He never missed a single one of his competitions. Lance had to tell himself that that was what he would want him to do: to swim. Swim like his life depended on it.

_Go._

The whistle cut through the air like a sword, sounding sharp and terrifying in Lance's ears. He felt frozen in place for a second, every muscle in his body so tense he felt like he would become a statue at any given second, and saw the other swimmers fly past him, hitting the water.

'Shit!' He whispered under his breath before throwing himself forward with as much strength as he could muster.

The impact into the water felt strange after all that time, and he hesitated a fraction of a second before starting to swim. Just that was enough to make everyone else swim past him, leaving him to regain his composure.

His muscle memory wasn't completely gone, and the small swimming sessions he had had in Lake Baku whenever he could had somewhat prepared him.

Somewhat. As he fought the bubble of panic raising inside of him, trying his best to gain on the boy next to him, he kept seeing Nyma's blonde hair against the bitter wind. That second where she turned towards him, her face dropping as they realized they could barely hear themselves over the blowing storm, kept playing in his mind like a broken record.

He hadn't been able to swim that day. Being thrown overboard, struggling to find himself between the raging waves, the only thing he could do was waggle his arms like a broken marionet doll. 

So he had to focus on what he was doing. If he just kept on going, keeping his form in mind, making sure every movement was precise and strong, just as he had practised for all those years...

His muscles were already burning when he passed the swimmer next to him, picking up speed. He could see the others, only a few fingers away from him. And Plaxum, way ahead of them all, swimming like she had been born in that pool. The way he used to swim.

Whenever his head broke the water's surface, he heard the people on the stands yelling. He could hear his friends between all those voices, chanting his name. Even though he couldn't stop and look at them, it was enough to put on a little more strength, even if it was only so he could get out of the pool quicker. A year ago, he would have lost his nerve if he caught himself swimming so terribly and with such sloppy movements. He still was, in the back of his head.

But he didn't need perfect. He just needed to keep going until it was over.

Steadily, he started to leave the other swimmers behind. All he needed now was a little push, a little more, and...

Lance finished only seconds after Plaxum, but she was already pulling herself out of the pool when he let his head out of the water. Her hand was stretched, waiting for him.

'You were great!' She said, helping him pull himself out. 'A rough start, but you managed to pull it off at the end. I'm sure Coach Luxia will love to have you on the team.'

'Yeah, yeah.' He stopped, licking his lips. His heart was still racing like a car when he managed to open his lips in a breathless smile. 'But everyone loves to have me around, so...'

As soon as he said that, Plaxum started to roll her eyes. But at least she was smiling, so he supposed she was at least mildly impressed with him.

'The team's going to hit the showers, get dressed and grab a bite at Vrepit Sal's. You're invited too, since it's obvious you'll make it in.' She started to walk away. 'Meanwhile, I think your friends want to congratulate you.'

In the stands, Hunk and Shay were furiously clapping, Hunk's shiny sign still in his hands. It eased Lance's panic, until he saw Shiro coming down the stands, hurrying down the steps to take him to the pool area. Coming towards Lance. And if his expression showed anything, it meant that, somehow, he knew that Lance was about to burst from anxiety.

 _Of course the school counselor knows you're freaking out, that's what they pay him for!_ He thought, looking around for the first place he could hide. _No, I can't break down now. Not in front of everybody._

'Well, then I guess I should go get dressed!' He declared, in the shrillest voice he could. Before Shiro was even down the steps, Lance was already racing ahead of the whole team, into the lockers and then the bathroom, where he firmly closed the door. 

He was shacking. He didn't know if the others had seen it or not, but his hands didn't seem to be still for more than a second. 

And it wasn't just his hands. It was like his whole body had been struck by lightning, it was like he was in that storm again. But now he was in dry land, and the only waves were the nausea in the pit of his stomach, anchors holding him back to that day on the boat, always that damned day on the boat.

A part of Lance still loved the water with a love he had never felt for any girl or boy. The sea had been his first love, the pool the second, and nothing could erase that. And yet, that love kept getting lost between the screams inside his head. And his skin couldn't decide whether it loved or hated being wet again, his heart couldn't separate the anxiety from the adrenaline.

Lance let his wet back hit the cold tiles of the bathroom wall, shivering, and cleaned the water away from his eyes. He noticed some of it was warm, big, fat tears that had started rolling off his eyes without him even noticing. Outside, his new teammates were talking out loud, their words not quite reaching him. He had won his place between them, and now he just had to go there and be his usual cheerful self. 

And hope no one noticed how scared for his life he looked.

* * *

Somebody inside the house was playing the guitar.

Keith couldn't exactly pinpoint where the music came from, or who was playing, only that it was very soft, almost as if the player was afraid of being heard. Which was a shame, really. It was a nice song, a bit sad, true, but still good enough to make Keith slightly tap his foot to the rhythm, hoping that would calm his growingly raging nerves. But why was he so nervous, anyway? 

He gave the alarm clock on Lance's bedside table (it was slowly settling in that it wasn't his own bedside table anymore, and not his room, for that matter) a look, watching the LED numbers add one more minute, and then he looked around the room once more, as if Lance had simply been hiding in a corner all that time for some reason. When he realized he wasn't, he turned his eyes back to the empty street, where only a black car was seen, waiting on the other side of the street. That car had been there all day, and he was getting real tired of it. Because when Keith was nervous, he got frustrated. And when he got frustrated, he got moody.

He should have come home ages ago.

It wasn't like Keith was worried. He was just a little restless. He had kind of grown accustomed to having Lance around, so the lack of his shrill annoying voice kind of made the house feel too silent. And strangely, so did that sad music that still floated up from one of the bedrooms. 

He could talk about it, of course. If he wanted to talk to himself, that was, since the only person who could actually hear him was fuck knows where. 

The thought that Lance was the closest thing he had to a friend made him want to break something. And the thought that he was now officially an hour late did too.

Finally, he heard the front door open, and suddenly that calm atmosphere was gone, cut open by a scream since Lance could not speak in a non-ear bleeding tone. The pressure in his chest seemed to diminish a bit, only to grow ten times larger when he heard that voice make it's way up towards the attic, blending laughs with loud footsteps. A little fighting with the trap door and there he was, beaming like he wasn't even a second late.

Lance's hair was damp, and of a deeper brown than usual. His smile came from cheek to cheek, his lips so pursed they were shaking. In fact, his hands were shaking too. His whole body was vibrating, and the anxiety could almost be smelled from where Keith was standing. It almost made him want to ask what was wrong, if that wouldn't interfere with his "don't give a fuck" policy. Giving Lance his most uninterested look, Keith clicked his tongue and crossed his arms across his chest.

'You took your sweet time.'

'Well, I'll have you know I went out eating with my new teammates.' Said Lance, shrugging his jacket off and throwing it on the bed. His shoulders seemed as tense as a piece of wood on the verge of breaking, but aside from that his movements were as fluid and natural as ever. 'Yes, you heard me right. Teammates. I am now on the swim team.'

So that was it. Lance was simply out, living another day of his fantastic life as another popular kid in Garrison High. And in case Keith had forgotten all their interactions, that life didn't include him. So he didn't have anything to be hurt or offended about.

'You're such a jock.' Scoffed Keith, turning his back and facing the window again. 'I thought you had been run over or some shit like that.'

'Yeah, bet you were really scared.' Lance dropped his duffel bag on the floor next to his bed and sat down to take off his shoes. 'Were you sitting by the window wondering when I would return from the war? Clutching my portrait to your chest as a single tear rolled off your eye?'

'No, I was wondering when you would show up so we could finally get some work done on the murder board.' He rolled his eyes. As if he would ever miss Lance McClain of all people. 'Every moment you waste is a moment I have to deal with you.'

'If I were you I would cherish every moment with me. Most people await my appearance with bated breath.'

'Shit. Getting in the swim team made you cocky.' Groaned Keith. 'I hate you when you're cocky.'

'You know, when you say it like that it makes it sound like there are times when you don't hate me.' Lance flashed him one of his trademarked smirks, throwing his arms behind his head. 'I'm starting to wonder if you're not just jealous.'

'What exactly is there to be jealous about?'

'My hair, for starters. My amazing, clear skin. My Milan Fashion Week worthy sense of fashion.' He paused for a second. 'My rock hard six pack!'

'You do not have a six pack!'

'Oh yeah?' Lance got up with a jump as if he was getting ready to fight Keith. 'Why don't you come over here and see for yourself?!'

Keith looks at him dumbfounded for a second until Lance realizes what he just said. His face turns hot for a second, and he's about to specify that he does _not_ want to have Keith all over him checking out his abs when he hears the sound of the trapdoor opening on the ground. 

'What are you doing?' Asked Veronica, popping her head up and looking around the attic with confusion written all over her face. Her eyes drove right past Keith as they stopped like deer in headlights.

'Uh, nothing.' He said, tearing his eyes away from Keith who, despite knowing his sister couldn't see him, was still frozen in place. 'Why?'

'I heard you talking with someone.' For a second, Veronica seemed hesitant. Scared. Like she feared her brother was going mad. 'Were you on the phone with one of your friends?'

'Yeah, yeah, it was that. Hunk and Pidge are such gossips, wanted to know everything about the swim team.' Lance nodded, even though his phone was clearly nowhere near him. Getting up with a jump, he shrugged. 'Anyway, what did you come up here for?'

'Just to tell you mom's making garlic knots for dinner today. But I didn't want to interrupt anything.' Given Veronica's worried expression, it was obvious she hadn't completely bought his excuse. 'Seriously, Lance, is everything alright? You sounded... stand-offish. And weren't you talking about your six pack? Since when do you have a six pack?'

Keith snickered, already sitting by the same spot Lance had found him. His mocking didn't help anything, only making him more flustered. He honestly liked him better when he was scared shitless.

'Well, thanks for coming up here to tell me that, sis!' Lance hurried himself to Veronica, quickly shooing her away with his hands. 'But seriously, next time knock, ok? God knows what I could be doing or saying. Anyways, see you later. Bye bye, love you!'

As soon as he said that, he understood that he had only left Veronica even more suspicious. No McClain told a sibling they loved them if they weren't hiding something.

Veronica left without another word, which was somehow worse than if she had called the entire family in to tell them Lance was talking to himself. With a deep sigh, he let himself fall dramatically onto his bed and buried his face in the pillow.

'I hate you, Kogane.' He said, voice muffled. 'I swear that if you weren't already dead I'd kill you.'

'Oh, you had it coming.' Keith sounded terribly pleased with the whole situation. 'Besides, I didn't force you to start talking about your abs. You went down that road yourself, completely against my will.'

Lance hurried himself to get the murder board from under the bed, hoping Keith wouldn't see him turn red.

'For someone who is always business and no play you are way too talkative today.' Lance crossed his arms and looked at their pitifully empty board. 'So, remembered anything while I was gone? Or did you just sulk by your usual spot until I got back?'

'Well, I've been watching the street, trying to see if anything pops up.' Said Keith, turning his face towards the window. 'It's mostly a blank. I can see some dots, but I can't connect them. Like, I'm _sure_ I was in Lake Bakku, I'm just not sure I got there.'

'Well, if what you told me was right' Started Lance, fishing for the murder board from underneath his bed 'then you left the house party at midnight. So you must have gone there after that. Can you at least remember why you went there or who the guy who beat you up was?'

It was now Keith's turn to be tense. He tightened the grip of his arms around himself, putting up a wall between him and Lance. 

'I have no idea.'

There was a strange moment of silent where Keith, even without looking, could see Lance's ears perk up and his eyes close down to slits. He wasn't the greatest lie detector, but he knew a thing or two. Enough to know that Keith was lying, knew about it, and didn't want him poking around the subject. Which just meant he had to apply some pressure.

'Oh, so you have _no_ idea.' He clicked his tongue. 'Just no idea, whatsoever. Who has an idea? Not Keith! Not him, for sure!'

'Ok, remember that talk we had about how I get to keep my business private and you get to keep yours?' Lance opened his mouth to protest and highlight that what he was keeping private was very personal, but Keith just shrugged. 'Some things are just far beyond your 4th grade investigator skills.'

So now he'd done and did it.

'Listen, we are not going to get anywhere if you keep lying to me.' Lance imitated the same position Mom made whenever she wanted to tell them she was about to go on a rant. With a hand on his hip and the other with a very angry pointed finger, Lance was ready to go off. 'I don't know why you're doing it, but at this point it doens't even matter anymore. You're dead, Keith? Got that? So maybe the shit that you did, the shit you're trying to hide from me, mattered 6 years ago, but it doesn't now. And I don't want to be your therapist or anything like that, but if you keep acting like it's you against the world you're going to be miserable forever! Do you want that?!'

There was nothing but silence and stillness from Keith, and for once Lance actually wondered whether he had hit a nerve. Not that he cared about Keith's feelings, if he had any.

For a moment, it seemed like Lance's words were really sinking in, making him question things. But once Keith gestured for him to come closer to the window, Lance realized he hadn't heard a single line. 

'When did Allura come back to Altea?' He asked. Outside, Allura was unlocking her front door, her head slightly turned to look above her shoulder. It was subtle, but it almost seemed like she was worried about something.

'Why do you care?' He rolled his eyes, stepping away. A few breaths later and Allura was safe and sound inside. 'You don't even know her.'

'Well, that's where you're wrong.'

It was Lance's time to be stunned in silence. If there were two people who were polar opposites it was beautiful, kind Allura and mullet-head dick Keith. Sure, he had lived there before Lance, around the same time as Allura, but... Well, it wasn't like anyone willingly talked to Keith!

'Hold on, you _know_ Allura?' 

'We used to be... friends. Kind of. More like acquaintances.' Said Keith, in that usual tone of his that made it look like Lance was juicing the answers out of him like he was some kind of fruit. But Lance didn't really have time to compare Keith to any particular fruit, since he was too surprised by what he had just heard.

Allura and Keith, spending time together? Being friendly to each other? The image was too much for him. He kept seeing them in a booth at Vrepit Sal's Diner, having lunch and drinking milkshakes. Sharing jokes. That made him so angry he could barely speak.

'So you used to be friends and now you're just sitting here, staring at her house?' He scoffed, already walking away. 'And she thinks _I'm_ the obcessed one.'

'Lance, will you just get your ass over here and come look?' Lance considered being a smartass for a second, but soon he was sitting next to Keith on the windowsill. And it didn't take too long for him to realize what he was staring at.

'That car.' He said. 'It used to be further down the street. Now it's right by Allura's house.'

'You noticed that too, huh?' Asked Keith, tilting an eyebrow. 'And here I stood, thinking I'd have to guide your hand through it.'

'Keep your pesky hands away from mine, thank you very much.' It had come to the point where he didn't even have to look at Keith to shoot something back. 'Do you know how long that car's been sitting there?'

'Almost all afternoon, as long as I can tell.' He answered. 'But could be longer. Do you have any idea who that could be?'

'I was about to ask you the same thing.' Lance rested his chin against his hand. 'I mean, mysterious deaths, black cars... It just seems to fit a little too nicely, that's all.' 

Keith fell silent once again, and Lance couldn't tell whether it was because he was being defensive again or thinking about what he had just said until he saw how nervous Keith look. It was subtle, but it was there, hiding in how he was biting down on his lips and curling his hands into fists. And Lance, being the poor empathetic angel that he kept telling everyone he was, couldn't help but feel a little nervous too seeing him act like that.

Keith talked about his own violent death like it was nothing. So if something made him scared, Lance didn't really want to know what it was.

'It's just...' Lance's ears perked up, waiting for him to pull the curtain back a little into what he actually thought. 'No, no, I must be paranoid.'

Lance huffed, already giving up. So more defensive ass attitude it was.

On the other side of the street, he saw the curtains on an upper floor window flutter for a second before Allura's face appeared behind the glass, peeking. Lance waved at her, blowing her a quick kiss. She waved back, the curtain closing again only after a moment.

'Can I just say it?' Asked Lance, and Keith didn't even try to mask how exasperated he was.

'You're going to anyway. So shoot.'

'Am I the only one who finds it super weird that you were actually friends with Allura Altea?'

'We weren't friends.' Grumbled Keith, rolling his eyes. 'We just had a _common_ friend.'

'Do you have to correct me all the time I speak?'

' _Every_ time you speak.'

'Oh, eat a-' 

'Hush.' Keith raised a hand, pointing at the car. 'It's moving.'

Beneath them, a second black car crept it's way along the road. Now both cars were standing parallel to each other, and they could see the driver on the first car roll down his window to talk to the newcomer. He was a man Lance had never seen in Altea, an angular face covered by sunglasses that didn't allow to see much else. He talked to the other driver for a while before moving away, disappearing in only a few seconds. 

And just like that, an almost identical car was in the exact same spot, the tinted windows rolled high so no one could see what was going on inside.

'Huh.' Lance's voice came out a bit too high, ringing out the fear that was clogging his throat. 'So much for paranoid.'

'There's something fishy going on here.' Said Keith, shaking his head. 'Those guys are _definitely_ stacking out Allura's house.'

'What?!' Lance took a large step back, obviously dumbfounded. Even though he knew Keith was probably right, it was still an alien idea, something that couldn't happen even in a million years. Something he couldn't allow to happen. 'You can't be serious! Why would anyone have it out for Allura? She's a delight, much unlike yourself!'

'Yeah, she's also one of the most important people in Altea.' He scoffed like Lance should somehow know that. 'Her family founded this city, so they're loaded. You never wondered why this town is named after them?'

'I thought _they_ were named after the town!' 

'You see, it's rookie mistakes like those that are stalling our investigation. And speaking of investigation...' Keith turned his head towards his desk. 'Didn't you read an article about my death that mentioned my neighbours?'

'I don't know, let me see.' Lance grabbed the folder where he had stuffed everything he had found on the internet about Keith's murder, mostly news, articles and obituaries. He quickly flipped through them, until he found what he was looking for. 'Must be it. Here it says that your body was found on the front yard at 6 am by a neighbour who was jogging and... Oh, God.'

Keith groaned, digging his fingers into his hair. He suddenly felt like the biggest idiot on planet Earth.

Of course. Who else but Allura to go running in the morning right after a party? She had probably been very mature and dignified about it, just as she always was, but it still felt horrible to know that she had been the one to find him laying on the overgrown grass, cold and dead. 

And now, apparently, some creeps were stalking her. Most probably his fault.

'I thought she left years ago! I saw her get in a car and not come back!' Pulling his hair away from his face, Keith twisted the strands between his fingers until he feared he would tear his scalp off. 'Look, you have to warn her. If this is what I think it is, then she is in serious danger.'

'What? What am I supposed to do?!' Screamed Lance, immediately regretting how loud his voice was. He didn't want anyone coming up right now, when he was on the verge of a mental breakdown. With a deep breath, he tried to regain any wandering bits of calm and logic he still had. 'I mean... how do we stop those guys? If they really are dangerous as you say they are, then we are going to end up with two ghosts on this house!'

As much as he hated to admit it, Lance was right. Although he had some lean muscle, enough to stand on his own if someone came looking for trouble, he would be dead in seconds if any of those guys got their hands on him. And while there was nothing Keith would love more than to watch Lance disappear forever, he also didn't want him to have the same fate he had experienced 6 years ago, and he _definitely_ didn't want to have to spend the rest of eternity with Lance there.

'Just... try to keep a watchful eye on her, ok?' Asked Keith, after it had become very obvious that they had their hands tied. 'We can try to take pictures of the cars' license plates, maybe the drivers. We'll add them to the murderboard and see just how many are of them, try to figure out how deep this thing goes.'

Lance's eyes drifted towards the murderboard. That was where they were supposed to put every single thing associated to the case, every person and location. And as of now, there was someone caught in the crossfire.

'Are we going to add Allura to the murderboard?'

From Keith's pressed lips, it was obvious that he didn't like the idea. Lance also didn't like sticking a photo of one of his favourite teachers ever in a cork board designed to collect evidence of a gruesome crime. 

'Maybe.' The answer didn't give Lance any peace of mind, but he supposed that was as much as he was getting that day. A solid maybe. 'First we should do some research. Find out what Allura has been doing these past years, see if it connects with anything.'

Lance rubbed his eyes, sighing deeply. He could feel a headache forming on the back of his head, fruit of all the effort, stress and anxiety of the day. 

This was truly the last thing he needed. Just to think that someone he considered a friend was in danger, someone he had spoken to that very same day, was in danger was the worst kind of psychological pain anyone could inflict on him. Who else was involved in this damn case that he didn't know? 

He felt Keith's eyes watching him as he got up and stretched. Every muscle in his body begged for rest, but this was more important. Food and sleep could wait, people needed him.

'I'll get to it.' He said, marching to his desk, already opening his laptop. 'I still have at least half an hour before they call me down for dinner. I can start some research on Allura's past, and then later tonight I'll just...'

'Nah, forget about it.'

The words were leaving Keith's mouth before he even noticed it, and he actually blinked in surprise as he heard himself saying them. He hadn't even thought about saying something like that. But even as Lance turned around, eyebrows raised, he didn't seem to regret saying that.

'I'm sorry, what?'

'You look like shit. You should take a nap, have your nice family dinner. And probably get some rest.' Lance was still staring, mouth now slightly agape. Keith hated how he exaggerated his expressions, but Lance being dramatic was nothing new. 'What?'

'Just five minutes ago you were getting on my nerves because I got home a few hours late and we had to work on the murder board!' Lance pushed his chair closer to him. 'Who are you and what did you do to Keith Kogane?'

'I'm being nice, you tool.' He scoffed, shaking his head. Ok, now he regretted. If Lance started getting any ideas then he would become way more talkative, and he really didn't want to hear his voice anymore than he already did. 'And if you mention it tomorrow I'll pretend like it never happened, you hear me? Just like you did on Halloween right after I saved your life.'

'I still do not recall those events.'

Lance didn't quite believe Keith was being serious until he saw him step out of the attic, not even looking at him anymore, not even insisting on that whole "I saved your life" business. It felt weird to see him leaving without them arguing, so weird that he almost felt like shooting up a comment about how stupid his mullet looked from behind or something, just so he would turn around and stay there to bicker for a few more minutes.

But then he found himself alone on his quiet room and looked at his bed, so fluffy and comfortable. Before he had a moment to question whether or not he should take up that offer for a nap, he was snuggling up between the covers, wet hair and jeans be damned. When he woke up he would still have to deal with all that mess, with a dead boy turned asshole ghost and a town that only gave up its' secrets at gun point, but for now the only thing he could see in his future was a calm and dreamless sleep.

 _Who would have guessed. Keith, being nice. This day is being a little box of surprises._ He thought as he drifted off with a slight smile on his face.

* * *

The first thing he did when Lance won was high five Shay. The second was to text Pidge, hands trembling from excitement.

**Our friend is officially a jock. Weep.**

He didn't expect Pidge to answer right away, so he was surprised to see text bubbles jump on his screen.

**This is a tragedy. He'll be insufferable now.**

**Btw, tell him I'm still working on that favour he called in. I'll have it ready next time I see him.**

The stands were clearing now, and Shay was already waiting for him. Hunk pressed his lips together, wondering whether or not he should ask. But Pidge seemed to answer the question he didn't know he should even utter.

 **And before you ask, yes,** **Matt is fine. He woke up a few hours ago, still very groggy. The doctors say he'll be able to talk in a few weeks, and able to walk by Christmas.**

**I'm not looking forward to the first one.**

'Got good news for you.' Said Hunk, as he and Shay finally started walking. The pool complex had fallen silent, and his voice made a bit of echo. But Shay didn't seem to mind, her eyes gleaming as if she already had an inkling of what he was going to say. 'Matt finally woke up.'

'That's great, Pidge must be beaming!' 

Hunk smiled, putting his phone back into his pocket. He really wanted to get some details, find out if Matt remembered anything that could help them find who had shot him, but he knew that the Holt's family reunion was probably more important than his curiosity. Instead, he began his walk outside with Shay.

And then it hit him. He was missing someone.

'Hey, where's Lance?'

'It was getting late and he was tired, so he went home. But don't worry, he said he'd call you later.' She seemed to grow a little nervous, looking around. 'And Shiro had to leave too.'

'Oh, ok.' Hunk followed her eyes, trying to get what she was looking at, but then he realized. Shay wasn't looking at anyone, because there was nobody else there. Hunk was officially completely alone with his long-time crush. No Pidge to make snide remarks, no Lance to "aww" and "ooh" over them. Just two very nervous teenagers. Oh, God.

'Uh, is anyone coming to pick you up?' He asked, immediately beating himself up. There were so many things he could have said. So many.

'I already called my brother.' She answered, looking away. 'He must be here any minute now.'

'Good. I'll wait with you.' He said, before adding. 'If you don't mind, of course. It's just that my father is going to pick me up too and...'

'I'd love to have company.' Seeing her smile, Hunk couldn't help but feel a few butterflies warming up his stomach.

They walked through the empty building, cutting the silence with a few words sprinkled here and there. The awkwardness was still there, but now it was fading gradually. Shay was just as nice as she was when they were around other people, perhaps even more. When they reached the front door, Hunk raced a few steps ahead and opened the door for her.

'So, what did you think of the tryouts?' He asked.

'It was great, even if I was only watching.' Commented Shay, as they stepped out of the pool building and felt the cold wind blow on their faces. She crossed her arms across her chest, burying her hands in her sweater's yarn. 'I'm so happy for Lance. Maybe he's actually starting to like Altea.'

'Well, what's not to like? We've got good food, nice people...' Hunk paused, trying his best not to stare at her. 'Beautiful views.'

'Yeah, but it's not California or Varadero. He must miss his home.'

Hunk tilted his head. It was true, Lance seemed sad sometimes. That kind of sadness as thick and indestructible as a brick wall, something that stood between him and the world. Hunk didn't like seeing his friend like that. 

'You're right. The swimming team will probably cheer him up.' He looked at Shay, the way she was beginning to tremble. She was putting on quite the effort so he wouldn't notice, but it was pretty obvious. It was November, freezing, and she only had a sweater. 'Forgot your jacket inside? We should go back and get it before your ride gets here.'

'No, no, I'm fine. I... didn't bring a jacket.' Shay rubbed her arms, turning her face away. The embarrassment was obvious in her voice. 'My old one's too small now, so I'm saving up to buy a new one. I think I'll have enough for it next week.'

'Shay, it's freezing here.' Without a moment's hesitation, he took off his jacket. 'Here, take mine. You need it more than I do.'

'But then _you'll_ get cold!'

'Seriously, I'll be ok.' Holding out his jacket, he averted his eyes, hoping she wouldn't see him blush. 'Take it.'

Hesitantly, Shay grabbed the jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. It wasn't exactly equipment fit for the Arctic, but it seemed good enough for her. Hunk could see her shoulders ease up as she pulled the fabric closer to her.

'Thank you, Hunk. You're very kind.' She showed him a small smile. 'I'll be honest, if it was anybody else in the play with me... I don't think I'd be able to do it.'

'Well, I'm happy to be in the play with you too.' Said Hunk, suddenly feeling very warm, even without his jacket. 'You're a really good actress you know? You make it feel so real!'

They stood there, now in the school's parking lot. Smiling, but not looking at each other. Hunk didn't really know what to do if she spoke to him, if she ventured even further into the compliments territory. If they kept talking like that, when they were so close to each other and she was wearing his jacket...

'Shay!' 

A car was making its way into the parking lot, and the open window showed the face of a boy only a few years older than them, a boy with heavy eyes and a worried expression that seemed almost chronic. When the car stopped only a few feet away from them, Hunk realized who it was. Shay's brother, Rax.

He straightened his back, instantly taking a few steps away from her. Rax watched them like a hawk as Shay turned towards him, hands on his jacket's shoulders.

'My brother's here, I should get going.' She said, already taking off the jacket. Hunk stopped her immediately.

'No, it's fine. You should keep it.' He smiled through the cold, hoping he wasn't giving away how close he was to hypothermia. 'I don't want you to be cold.'

'Hunk, you can't be serious!'

'Yes, yes I am.' From behind Shay's shoulder, he could see a pair of headlights heading towards the parking lot. 'Look, my father's coming and you're brother's getting impatient. Even if you don't want it, at least keep it until you get a new one.'

Shay hesitated, hands still on her shoulders. When she looked down, he could swear she was blushing.

'Thank you.' Inside the car, Rax honked. Shay started walking away, yet always staring at him. 'I'll give you the jacket back next time I see you! Promise!'

Hunk only moved when he saw her get into the car, like he feared she would disappear if he tore his eyes away. When he looked towards his father, he had the goofiest smile he had ever seen, and Hunk could only wait and dread how much his parents would joke about his "girlfriend" that night. A very embarrassing dinner awaited him.

Meanwhile, Shay was already inside, trying her best not to look behind her shoulder to see if Hunk was still there. Rax was driving slowly and with a strange, closed-off expression. That face usually scared people, but she had learned to see that it was just what her brother did when he was nervous. Or, as was usual, worried. 

'Shay?' Blurted Rax, as she put on her security belt. 'You know that I love you, right? I hate to play the overbearing older brother role, but I do feel like I need to warn you.'

She paused, hand still attaching the security belt.

Rax had always been the protective kind, in a way that was almost mother-hen like. He had only stopped giving her his hand when they crossed crosswalks when she was 12, and that was after a lot of insistence. But the way he seemed as they drove away slowly, it was something she had never seen. Like he was prepared to run at any time.

'Is this about Hunk?' She asked, already feeling her cheeks begin to burn a little. 'Because we're just friends, ok? It's not like that.'

'He's the sheriff's son, isn't he?' He asked, eyes lingering on the rear side mirror. Shay could see Hunk from there, getting into his dad's car. And suddenly, it dawned on her what this was all about.

'Rax, please.' She sighed. 'It's been years.'

'Shay, what Altea did to me is still ruining my life today.' He tightened his hands around the steering wheel. 'They can host as many Spring Festivals as they want and PTA bake sales, but the underlying message is clear. They think everybody else is garbage, and as long as you're at Garrison they'll always be watching you, waiting for you to do something wrong just like they did with me.'

Shay crossed her arms across her chest, burying herself in her seat.

'Hunk's not like that, Rax. He's kind, and strong, and really cares about his friends. And I met his dad too, he's a great person.' As much as she tried, she couldn't catch her brother's glance. 'Rax, what they did to you was wrong. But it's no reason to act paranoid.'

Rax just scoffed, dismissing her. Straightening her back, Shay felt a warm fire rising in her throat. Not anger, not exactly. Frustration.

'I don't need to remind you that when all of that went down 6 years ago, Alfor Altea was the one who interceded in your favour, do you?' He kept silent. She interpreted that as a small victory. 'If it wasn't for him, you'd have gone to jail.'

'If it wasn't for his damn school, I wouldn't have been in that situation in the first place!'

Shay sighed again, rolling her eyes. Fighting with Rax was useless sometimes, especially when he started acting like it was them against the world. And truly, she couldn't blame him for being bitter, at least to the Altea Police Department and the teachers at Garrison High. But she knew Hunk, and she had met his parents before. They weren't bad people. They didn't deserve her father's anger.

'So who is to blame for your life getting ruined, brother dear?' She asked, letting her head rest against her hands.

Rax's breath missed a beat, and she could already see the expression he was making, even without looking. The expression he always made whenever he talked about certain people from the better parts of Altea. She knew that once he spoke, she wouldn't get another word out of him about the subject.

'Keith Kogane.' He answered, eyes fixed on the road. 'I blame Keith Kogane.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there. It's me.  
> If you're new here, hi. Welcome.  
> If you were one of the people reading last year... please don't kill me.  
> Yes, I know. I haven't uploaded since May 2018. Yes, most people probably don't even remember this fic. But I was reading all the lovely comments everyone left on this fic and I got kinda sad that I wasn't gonna finish it. So I decided to try one more chapter.  
> I don't know if anyone is even interested in If I Could Touch You anymore, to be honest. I don't blame you guys for not liking a fic that spends months without uploading and then just posts a chapter. But if you are interested, then give me some feedback. What do you want to see? What do you like, what don't you like? What character's perspective do you like the most? I'm trying to do this right this time.  
> And just so you know, what I'm settled on doing right now is grabbing season 8 and stuffing it where no one can find it or remember it.


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